Shattered Innocence
by pisces317
Summary: When House discovers that Wilson is being abuse, he does everything to protect his friend. But what happens when the thing he needs protection from, is House himself? Joint Fic w/All things. Slash Incl. Feat. Domestic Abuse & Sexual Confusion.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Shattered Innocence**

Author:mmorgan317 & all things413

Rating: I'm going to say PG-16 (Yes, once again I'm making up my own rating) with warnings about domestic abuse and possible sexual disgust.

Summary: When House discovers that Wilson is being abused, he does everything to protect his friend. But what happens when the thing he needs protection from, is House himself?

Spoilers: Set Season 2-3, so nothing beyond that.

Disclaimer: I do not own, I am just borrowing.

Author's Notes:  
**First I wanted to say Thank You to my partner in crime/co-author and beta, All things! If anyone can talk her into perusing their stories, they should. She's excellent!**

Second: I got this idea from the many domestic abuse stories I've read and have enjoyed immensely but have found a serious lack of mean!House/abused!Wilson fics. This will be a multi-chapter story with a sequel. There will be some crude language in certain chapters which I will definitely warn the audience before hand so they know not to read it if they don't want.

So without further ado, here's...

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

Dr. James Wilson stood in the bedroom that he shared with his wife Julie staring at the full length mirror that hung on their closet door. It had become a morning ritual that he had been uncomfortable with at first, having never been a vain man, but soon found that it was necessary in order to keep his secrets from others.

He started with what he could easily see: his shoulders, chest, arms, stomach, and legs then he went on to his back. At first he had cringed at the sight of his bruised and painful body but over the years he had grown accustomed to the sight and just focused on what he'd have to hide and how.

Old bruises faded with the new, making this process harder and damn near impossible. Wilson often found himself having to physically press on the bruising and gage how much it hurt to be able to differentiate.

There were some scratches from a diamond wedding ring and nails. Julie had discovered that it was "fun" to turn her studded ring under her finger able to leave scratches and deep gouges when she'd open-palm slap him. She had first done it on his face but when he reported that people had noticed (of course they would!) she had changed her tactic to keeping the places she'd hit that were easily hidden by clothing.

After checking the front he grabbed the extra mirror on the bureau and turned around, wincing when his left side burned with the action. Julie seemed to favor beating his left side which had never made sense to him since he was left handed and surely someone would notice how he favored it but no one had.

Wilson cringed when he saw the deep, purpling bruise covering his left shoulder and hissed in pain when he moved that arm. _Just what I need!_ He thought. He hugged his arm closer to his side and kept going with his inspection.

The fist shaped bruises spread over his entire back but were worse (and hard to distinguish) on the left side by his ribs, over his shoulder blade and on the tissue over the socket. The bruising from his shoulder socket snaked down across his collar bone and down near his arm pit. He noticed when she was really frustrated, Julie liked to use his arm and shoulder as a punching bag. He laughed sardonically when he thought _Those kick boxing classes are sure working out well! _

Once he had finished his inspection Wilson began to get dressed, heavily favoring his left side. He'd inspected his middle region before putting on his underwear, not surprised to find dark, painful bruising on his left hip. It would make walking normally painful for a few days but he'd deal with it; he had to.

At first he never knew why Julie had started beating him but after his fourth time spending time with House instead of going home to be berated by her, he figured it out. She had never bothered to hide how much she hated Gregory House and over time being married to Wilson she had grown jealous of the time they spent together. Every time Wilson would go eat pizza and drink beer with House at his place or immediately drop whatever he was doing to be with his best friend in a time of need, Julie retaliated by using him as practice for her kick boxing class.

She had hoped it would be a deterrent for Wilson but all it did was make him more desperate to get out. To be with House where things seemed normal and he didn't have to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing or walking through the door only to duck when a plate (that had been aimed at his head) comes flying towards him. He gladly took the beatings afterwards for his few hours of freedom.

The extent of the beating depended on how much time he spent with House. If he was only gone for a couple of hours, generally he got away with some new bruises. If he was gone more than 3 hours, he wound up with bruising and some scratches. If he spent the entire evening and didn't come home, it was bruising bad enough to cover cracked ribs and possibly chips in his sturdier bones (like his shoulder blade).

The worse was when he stays out all night and doesn't call. He generally returns to work the next day limping heavily from a booted foot kicking his knee, which resulted in a badly sprained knee, and favoring his left side where the same booted foot kept kicking him after he fell to the ground, which left him with at least 2 broken ribs.

Last night had been one of the "entire nights on House's couch" beatings. He wouldn't be surprised if his shoulder blade was chipped in a couple places and had a hairline fracture in his hip with how hard she had hit him.

Wilson glanced at the clock, mentally cursing himself for taking so long when he noticed that he had about ten minutes left to grab a mug of coffee, throw on his suit jacket and drive away. With how slowly he was moving today, he wouldn't make it on time and would be late for work which would cause suspicion with Cuddy and House.

The last person he wanted on his case, dissecting his movements and putting things together was House! That man could figure anything out and Wilson didn't really want to become his next puzzle.

With that encouraging thought, Wilson hurried out of the bedroom to leave for work.

* * *

Dr. Gregory House had been impatiently waiting for Wilson to come to work; he was hungry and wanted the oncologist to buy him breakfast. So he waited on the second floor by the elevators, staring at every person who entered and growing more annoyed with each person that wasn't Wilson.

He pulled out his phone to check the time and make sure he hadn't received any "HELP" messages from his friend and frowned when the display lit up to reveal it was almost 9:00 a.. Wilson was a stickler for being on time and was generally through the doors by 8:00 am, 8:30 at the latest. He slipped his phone back into his coat pocket, making sure the ring tone was on loud enough for him to hear through the fabric, and continued to wait; the frown still present on his sharp features.

When Wilson finally walked through the door fifteen minutes later, the frown deepened. House noticed his friend's slight limp (though it was imperceptible to others who didn't know the oncologist as well as he did) and the way he used his left arm to guard his side. Something was wrong and Wilson was acting like it was nothing; two things House NEVER liked in a combination.

He felt his hopes rise when he noticed Cuddy making her way over to Wilson while he checked his messages. Cuddy knew Wilson almost as well as he did and surely she had noticed something was wrong with him. Surely she had noticed something was wrong with him.

He watched her brows furrow in concern and cross her arms in disbelief. He saw how she put a gentle hand on Wilson's left shoulder and give it a gentle but friendly squeeze. He caught the way his friend cringed and eyes scrunched briefly in pain. He thought Cuddy had noticed the action and the way the oncologist had slightly pulled away but to his annoyance she let Wilson escape to the elevators.

House didn't blame her; Wilson knew how to dismiss, placate or soothingly demur his way out of any situation regarding his health or private life. With a drug addict for a brother (and best friend) he'd had practice for many years.

He limped his way to the elevators, pressing the 4 button; determined to get to the bottom of this mystery called James Wilson.

* * *

Wilson escaped into the quiet of his office, thankful for the peace and safety of it. Escaping Cuddy's concerned looks and touches without giving anything away had been difficult. But if he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure he did pull it off.

He hung his suit jacket on the coat rack by the door and placed his briefcase down on his chair. He checked his schedule and immediately felt drained at the sight of the back to back to back patient meetings, giving him time to grab a quick lunch before becoming trapped in his office once again with more patient meetings. He was going to need a LARGE cup of coffee. He checked his watch to make sure he had time before his first meeting, he left the room.

The oncologist made his way to the diagnostic's conference room, holding the biggest coffee cup he owned. It was more a bowl than a cup but he didn't care, with the way he was feeling and the amount of work he had to do today, he needed it!

"Good Morning Dr. Wilson." Dr. Alison Cameron greeted cheerily. Most of the time Wilson liked her but this morning he wanted to kick a puppy in front of her to bring her down a notch.

"Good Morning Cameron." He greeted in return, offering a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Chase and Foreman offered nods of greeting but otherwise didn't acknowledge him as he walked as quickly as he could to fill his "mug". In hindsight trying to walk quickly wasn't a good idea since it meant he limped heavier but he hadn't thought of that until he heard Cameron's voice.

"Are you alright Dr. Wilson?" She asked, concern dripping off her voice like water dripping off a wet rag.

"I'm fine." He answered as he turned around to leave. Cameron, Chase and Foreman were all looking at him like they didn't believe him. "And please, just call me Wilson." He offered hoping to ease the formality between him and House's fellows.

He walked to the door, painfully aware that they were studying him with the practiced ease of doctors who had been working for House. He ignored their watchful eyes as he left, trying to hurry to his office in time to meet his patient who was supposed to be meeting him now.

Wilson arrived in time to meet his patient at the elevator, cradling his arm closer to his side to try and help ease the pain in his ribs from the heavier breathing. It helped but only minutely.

He greeted his patient with a smile. "Mr. Ozeranski, how are you doing?"

"Dr. Wilson!" Jeffrey Ozeranski offered by way of greeting as he walked over and clapped a heavy hand on Wilson's shoulder. "I'm good, I'm good." He answered warmly, unaware that he had caused his doctor any degree of pain.

"Good." Wilson chuckled painfully. "Well, let's go to my office and talk shall we?" He suggested, silently leading his happiest patient towards his door.

He urged Jeff into one of the chairs across from his desk while he placed his "mug" of coffee on top of his desk. Grabbing the patient file from his desk, he then sat down opposite the chair his patient was in.

Wilson listened patiently to Jeff's complaints and offered suggestions on how to fix them, whether they be related to his disease or personal life. He laughed appropriately when needed and nodded sympathetically when expected. By the time Jeff walked out, he felt better, emotionally, than he had going in while Wilson was starting to ache.

Once Jeff was out the door Wilson stood up and walked around his desk to sit down in his own chair, drinking deeply from his cup of coffee and stifling a groan that threatened to escape when his next patient knocked on his door. _And we're off!_ He thought as Barbara Tyler walked through his door.

* * *

House walked into the conference room, grumpy that he had had to pay for his own food. He watched as 3 seemingly innocent faces turned to him and closed their mouths. "Should I go back out so you can finish your conversation or can I join too?" He quipped as he sat down at the table.

"We were just talking about Wilson." Cameron answered earning two groans from her other fellows.

"What about him?" House dismissed as he took a bite of his cream cheese bagel.

"He was limping when he came in earlier to grab coffee," She began, hesitating at the beginning, "and when he left he seemed to be cradling his left arm. Was he in an accident of some kind last night?"

House felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up at Cameron's (and probably Chase's and Foreman's as well) observations but kept his tone snarky. "How should I know?"

"Because you were with him last night weren't you?" Cameron returned, her tone almost accusing.

"Were you following me?" He countered, still not answering the question.

"No!" She answered indignantly. "I saw you two leaving together and assumed he went over to your place."

"Nope." He answered simply as he tossed the wrapper from his bagel into the trash. "I drove him home since his wife took his car. Wilson and I hung out the night before, Poker Night if you know what I mean." He said giving her a crude and too obvious wink.

"You're gross." She answered sitting down at the conference table.

"You're just now figuring that out?" Foreman challenged disbelievingly.

"No, I just thought he would know why his best friend seems to be injured for seemingly no reason at all." She returned with a glare at House.

"Sorry." House answered with a tick of his head. "Do we have a case?"

"No." All three answered in unison.

"Ok." He said while inhaling deeply. "Cameron go down to the clinic, Foreman and Chase help out somewhere else."

"Why do I have to do your clinic hours?" Cameron challenged.

"I think it's called 'alphabetizing'." House replied before he headed into his office, ignoring the "Whatever" looks from his team.

He sat down in his office chair, bouncing his Lacrosse ball against the wall opposite it. Apparently Wilson hadn't been hiding his pain as well as the oncologist hoped and now that he had Cameron's attention there was a bigger chance of being smothered to death by caring.

House smiled at the title of the obituary: "World Renowned Oncologist Smothered to Death by Too Much Caring".

After taking three minutes to laugh to himself about the ridiculous title, House turned his attention back to the problem at hand. He needed to figure out what was going on with Wilson so as to get Cameron off his friend's back before things got worse and she got more invested.

Cameron had a big heart, House thought too big most days, and cared about everyone in pain whether she knew them or not. This was part of the reason she made a good doctor but it got her into trouble sometimes. It was because of her concern for Wilson that he sent her down to the clinic, in as close as possible proximity to Cuddy, hoping she'd happen to mention it to the Dean of Medicine.

Once Cuddy was made aware that others were noticing something was off with Wilson, she would go to her Head of Oncology's door and try to mother it out of him; wearing him down in time for House to come in and dissect him until he knew the truth.

He checked his watch and decided he'd give it another thirty-forty minutes before he'd hop the balcony wall and intrude into Wilson's office, patients be damned. House was good at getting them to leave and leave word with Wilson's assistant not to allow anyone else to come back.

House bounced his ball some more, swallowing a couple of Vicodin while he waited, then checked his watch again. Twenty more minutes and counting…


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

Wilson was just ushering his latest patient out when the balcony door burst open, the April breeze swishing in. Not needing to turn around to know it was House, he closed the door. His next patient hadn't arrived yet, so maybe he could quickly appease his insufferable friend and shove him out the door. Not that it was likely, but a man can hope can't he?

"House, you do know that I'm busy right?" He asked while he made his way behind his desk and sat down. "I don't have time to entertain you right now."

"Damn, I paid for tickets and everything." House mock pouted.

A roll of the eyes was all that Wilson gave him as he reviewed his next patient's file. Maybe if he just ignored House, the scruffy, taciturn doctor would leave.

No such luck. "I was thinking-" the diagnostician began while sitting in the chair across the desk but Wilson cut him off.

"House, I really don't have time for this." He said. As if to testify to that statement, a knock sounded on the door. "You need to leave, now." He hissed as he went to the door. He opened it to reveal his next patient, Elizabeth Ertle. "Good afternoon, Ms. Ertle." He greeted warmly, "How are you today?"

A sarcastic snort erupted from inside the office and Wilson only had a split second warning before his friend said, "Are you kidding? With that boob job, I'd be seeing a doctor too!"

The insulted look that traversed over his patient's face only added to Wilson's frustration. "House, leave. Now." He growled, pointing towards the balcony door. Turning back to Ms. Ertle, he apologized, "I'm sorry, please ignore him."

His luck must've run out completely since he was suddenly aware of House standing next to him gesturing at his patient like she was on exhibit in front of some plastic surgery class. "Now, if you'll notice here," he said pointing to a breast, "this one has a slight sag-"

"House," Wilson warned.

"-while this one," House finished pointing to the other breast, "is perfectly perky; does she think if she wore more ruffs then you wouldn't notice?" He mocked unflinchingly.

"House!" Wilson snapped, a look of horror crossing his face.

"Dr. Wilson," Ms. Ertle interrupted curtly, "Maybe I should reschedule…"

"No, Dr. House was just leaving." Wilson said, his tone soft and gentle while addressing his patient and growling while he was telling House to leave. He was beyond furious with his friend. It was one thing to insult him, he was used to it, but it was something completely different to insult his patients.

"It's fine. I'm not feeling well anyways." Ms. Ertle said tightly, "I'll go and reschedule with your secretary."

"Elizabeth," he called after her retreating back. He could tell that she was upset by what House had said and he didn't want her leaving with House's words echoing through her mind. Wilson felt a tightening pain spread through his sternum, reminding him to control his breathing as he spun around to chew out his friend. "What the hell was that?" He exploded while slamming the door shut.

"That," House began as he gestured toward the door with his cane, "was called 'heckling'. I'm surprised you didn't know that since you've been on the receiving end of it for about, oh, sixteen years or so." The diagnostician answered, squinting at the ceiling while he "estimated" how long he and Wilson had been friends.

"She didn't do anything to you." Wilson argued, waving towards the door with his right hand. He inwardly winced at the weakness of his own argument knowing that it was hardly a valid point seeing as that had never stopped the older doctor before.

"She assaulted me with bad breasts." House retorted aghast.

"She has breast cancer you ass!" Wilson exclaimed gesturing wildly with his hands. Fiery pain shot through his ribs and back making him clench his teeth and wince.

"What's wrong with you?" House asked mockingly, narrowing his eyes and pretending to scan Wilson. He already thought he knew what was wrong but he wanted to hear it from the oncologist himself and therefore needed to pretend ignorance.

"Nothing, I pulled something in my shoulder last night." Wilson dismissed as he moved from the space between his desk and the door to behind his desk. "Don't change the subject." Wilson warned, pointing his finger at House. "You had NO right to insult my patient."

"Oh please, she'll come back tomorrow and you'll apologize profusely for that 'Jerk Dr. House'. Now, let's get back on the right subject." House dismissed, leaning on his cane like he was in a Broadway number. "Why have you been wincing all morning?" He paused giving Wilson time to answer but continued quickly, knowing his friend wouldn't. "No? Well, how about you tell me why you've been limping? Or why you're guarding your left side?"

"House, just forget it. I'm fine."

"Yes, that must be why you can't extend your arm more than a couple of centimeters. I forgot that "fine" people have that problem ALL the time!" House quipped sarcastically, growing more frustrated by the other man's insistence on lying to him.

"House, please just drop it." Wilson implored with surrendering hands. But House didn't listen and Wilson wondered why he ever thought the other man would when passed experience has taught him otherwise. Without a word, the diagnostician gracefully rounded the desk, closing in the space between them, and used his can to poke Wilson's left side, right in the spot where the broken ribs resided.

A cry of pain escaped the oncologist's mouth before he could stop it and Wilson hugged his left arm tighter to his side, trying to curl inward to guard the injury more, as white splotches erupted clouding his vision. Before he knew what was happening, House had pulled up his office chair and was unbuttoning his dress shirt.

"House," Wilson protested, wheezing painfully, while trying to bat away the hands that were currently trying to lift his undershirt.

"Shut up and let me see." came the irritated and gruff reply as gentle fingers pulled the white Hans shirt up to reveal Wilson's previously well kept secret. Wilson heard the sharp intake of breath, something akin to a growl and then the room went deathly still.

* * *

_**RING …. RING …. RING**_

Wilson's office phone broke the silence. He looked down at the Caller ID to see if it was someone he could ignore. FRONT DESK 5066 it read. _CRAP!_ "Yeah." He said as casually as he could.

"_Is everything alright Dr. Wilson?" _His assistant asked. _"Ms. Ertle came back and asked to be rescheduled. She said something about you being in a meeting with an ass doctor; I assume Dr. House is in your office?"_

Wilson let out a small chuckle, wincing at the spike of pain it brought. _Oh how she knew him well!_ "Yeah, he is. Could you do me a favor and reschedule my next," he looked down at his calendar, "three appointments? I think I may be busy until then."

Sascha's warm laugh filled the phone, _"Of course doctor. Let me know if you need anything." _

"I will. Thanks." He answered just as warmly before he hung up the phone and set it to forward all calls to voicemail. He still had the smile on his face when he looked back at House, the smile fading when he saw the blue eyes staring at him angrily.

"Take your shirts off, I want to get a better look." House demanded quietly as he helped slip the undershirt over Wilson's head and off his injured side. "Who did this?" He asked, disgust filling his voice.

"No one." Wilson lied. His brows furrowed in confusion as to why he was still lying to his friend; especially such an obvious lie. _Perhaps, _he hoped, _House will have a bout of unnatural gullibility!_

"Really?" House asked as he palpitated the deep bruising around his ribs with gentle fingers. "Because these look like fist sized bruises but who do we know that has that small of a fist?"

"What makes you think you or I know them?" Wilson countered, wincing at the pressure House applied to a tender spot. "How do you know I wasn't attacked?"

"Wilson, do I look like that big of an idiot?" House replied sarcastically. _So much for the bout of gullibility, _Wilson sighed. "Half these bruises are a few weeks old; this was no attack by a stranger." He summed as he moved on to Wilson's back, wincing in sympathy when he saw the dark purple bruising over his friend's shoulder; no wonder Wilson couldn't extend his arm.

"House, just leave it alone." Wilson implored, his cheeks blushing deep crimson. He could only imagine the disgust his friend felt at seeing his bare, bruised flesh and knowing that Wilson could have stopped it but didn't. Just another person he disappointed.

"No." The diagnostician replied a little more sharply than he meant. He investigated one of the gouges in Wilson's back, eyes growing ice blue with fury. He recognized that shape. "James, did Julie do this to you?"

Wilson felt his defenses slip at the sound of his first name combined with the pure sincere concern he heard in his friend's voice. House never called him by his first name unless it was something important; it was his way of letting the oncologist know that he was serious and it was time to stop lying. "It's not her fault."

"I didn't ask if it was her fault, I asked if she did this to you." House retorted, turning his friend around to face him. Wilson's soft chocolate brown eyes met his and then dropped to the floor, giving House his answer.

"It's not her fault." Wilson reiterates. "I know the rules and I choose to ignore them."

"The rules?" House sneers. "Pray, do tell what ARE the rules?"

Wilson flinched at his tone, knowing the mocking was meant at him. "Nothing, it's nothing. Can we just ignore this, please?" He begs, gently putting his shirts back on.

As he moves, a rainbow of coloring catches House's attention. "Wait." He says as he holds out a hand to gently still Wilson's movements. He pulls up the desk chair again and sits himself down in it, softly pulling down the belted pants and waistband of Wilson's underwear. Most would think it a weird movement but knowing that both men had been through worse with each other, neither thought anything of it.

The sickeningly beautiful array of bruising that meets House's eyes on his friend's hip draws out a feral growl. "You are not going back there."

"House-" Wilson starts.

"No Wilson, no arguments. I don't care what you think you've done, you have done nothing to deserve this." House replies softly but definitely. "Tonight, you WILL be going home with me and you will NOT call Julie and let her know."

"I have to call and let her know, otherwise it's worse-!" Wilson slaps a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide in shock. Damn it! He hadn't meant to say so much.

House, who had been heading for the balcony door, spun around on his heel. "Are you seriously telling me that she beats you for spending time with me?" He demands incredulously.

Wilson winces at the hint of mockery he hears in House's voice but doesn't respond; he doesn't think his voice would work right now if he tried. Pain echoes throughout his side and chest as his breathing picks up in an effort not to let the tears of shame that are pooling in his eyes fall. He plops down into his desk chair and painfully places his face in his hands, breathing out a heavy sigh of emotion.

House watches his friend deflate with practiced passiveness. He feels his heart squeeze painfully when a tear falls from the other man's cheek and onto his pants but keeps his face a stony mask. He wants nothing more than to run over to Wilson, cradle him in his arms and whisper words of comfort while the oncologist releases all the emotions that he has been hoarding inside. But that isn't him; it's not what he does.

He opts instead for walking back over to his friend and placing a gentle hand on his uninjured shoulder. He tries to find the right words to say, something to bring the abused man some comfort but all he comes up with is, "You will not be going back there ever again."

They must have been good enough because he soon feels the shaking of Wilson's shoulders ease and hears him trying to quell his emotions with deep, painful breaths.

"Thanks." Wilson whispers roughly while trying to dry his eyes.

House nods his answer then gives a gentle squeeze when he realizes that Wilson can't see him nod. "You better get back to your bald-headed circus freaks. Wouldn't want one of them to die, would we?" He jokes earning a laugh from the other man.

Wilson checked the time. "I've still got another hour until my next appointment."

"Perfect! Lunchtime." House inserts, grinning suggestively. Red rimmed brown eyes meet warm cerulean blue; gratefulness, happiness, pain, fear and apprehension swirling through them, almost knocking the air out of the diagnostician's lungs with how strongly present they were.

"Fine, but you're buying." Wilson concedes lightly.

"But Mom," House whines, "there's no fun in that."

"No," the oncologist replies as he slowly stands up, "but it does help to ensure that I can buy dinner for tonight."

House thought about commenting on Wilson's daily allowance but, given the circumstances, thought better of it. "Fine." He sighed dramatically, following the other man out the door.

* * *

**_AN: There ya go, the second chapter. I hope that you all are liking it so far! Please Review and give me your opinions! _**


	3. Chapter 3

**_AN: Here's Chapter 3. Please review and tell me what you think! I may edit it once I get All thing's input, just an FYI.

* * *

_**

**Chapter 3:**

House walked into his apartment, tossing his keys onto a table against the wall and his coat over the armchair in the corner. His first order of business was to go to the bathroom, take a potty break, then grab the peroxide and a couple band aids ranging in size. As he headed towards the end of the hall where his bathroom resided he heard his apartment door close, not quite a slam but not gently either; he spared a quick look behind his shoulder to make sure that Wilson had come in behind him then continued on to his destination.

Wilson timidly shuffled into House's apartment behind the diagnostician. Normally he'd just walk in, grab a beer from the fridge and sit down like nothing had changed. But the fact was that things had changed and he wasn't sure what to expect from his friend.

He knew he had shamed and disgusted House; that much had been obvious from the other man's tone alone. Often times the next morning while he was examining the new damage that had been inflicted, he felt the same way. It really was pathetic that he chose to be beaten just so he could spend some time with his best friend but, given the option, he'd do it all again.

Though the saying "Bros before Hoes" was often a joke between male friends, Wilson believed in it fully. Out of all three of his marriages, House had been the only constant. Sure, his friend hadn't actually been there after he had gotten divorced from Sam but he had been there to help pick up the pieces.

Through all the snarky, sarcastic, misanthropic comments made toward humanity in general and even more thrown his way, Wilson knew he would always be able to count on House to help him through tough times; even if they were done in House's own unique way. No matter how many beatings he got, Wilson would never drop his friendship with House.

House came out of the bathroom to find Wilson standing uncomfortably in the middle of the living room, staring contemplatively at the couch. He read the timidity flowing off his friend as easily as an EEG and it unnerved him.

This wasn't the James Wilson, M.D. that he was used to. The James Wilson he knew was confident in himself, relaxed in House's presence and able to say whatever was on his mind no matter how much House didn't want to hear it.

This James Wilson was shy, unsure of himself or what to do. He couldn't decide if it was ok to sit down or if he should keep standing in case the need should arise to run. It made House's stomach churn acidly and threaten to rebel by discarding the food he had eaten to today.

"Are you going to sit down or keep trying to blend in with the furniture?" House asked, scaring the other man enough to make him jump and wince.

"Huh?" Wilson asked before realization dawned on him and blushed a deep crimson, "Oh, yeah." He answered distractedly as he sat down on the furthest piece of couch he could find. He didn't want his friend to have to sit any nearer to him than he had to.

House noticed the distraction and careful thought process in his friend realizing there was more going on inside the oncologist's mind than he let on. Giving an impressive eye roll he instructed, "Sit on the side closest to the kitchen and take off your shirts. I want to clean the scratches."

"They're already clean, I did that myself." Wilson answered, obediently moving to the other side.

"I'm pretty sure it's hard to disinfect scratches on your own back so unless you had Julie help, I'm going to redo it." House countered as he walked over to the side of the couch Wilson had previously occupied and sat down. He patiently waited for his friend to get the shirts off and helped whenever necessary.

The older doctor felt his stomach coil itself into knots and the fiery burn of rage fill him as he once again saw the bruised, scratched and damaged mess that is his best friend's torso. Julie had better be thankful that he respects Wilson as much as he does otherwise she'd be dead; literally beaten to death with cane marks the only thing to implicate him.

He opened the plastic box that represented his first aid kit then pulled out some Q-Tips and the Hydrogen Peroxide. Dipping the thin cotton swab into the disinfectant, he generously applied it to the angrier looking scratches and gouges with a sneer appearing on his face when it bubbled.

Wilson scrunched his face but made no sound as House cleaned his wounds; guessing by how much it stings, he didn't clean them as well as he should have. He tried to keep the shying away from the other man's touch to a minimal; he knew House wouldn't hurt him but at this point his body didn't trust his mind. He tucked his shaking hands around his stomach, engulfing himself with their warmth and protection.

House felt the slight tremors that echoed through his friend's body and noticed the way he pulled away every time a hand was placed on his skin but made no comment. He knew it was common in victims of abuse but the knowledge didn't help quell the pity, sympathy and concern that swirled uncomfortably in his heart; mixing with the blood and spreading to every part of his body until he ached for his friend as if the wounds were his.

Wilson's phone sounded, breaking the contemplative silence. He pulled the phone out of his suit jacket pocket and checked the Caller ID, cringing when he saw Julie's name pop up.

House peeked over his friend's shoulder to see who it was, though he already knew, and grabbed the phone before the oncologist could answer. He hit the green 'answer' button. "He's busy," he said and then hung up. Switching out the peroxide and Q-Tips for the antibacterial ointment and bandages, he went back to addressing Wilson's wounds.

He needed a variety of bandages; knuckle band aids for the deep gouges that were right over the shoulder blade and strips of taped gauze for the longer scratches. After he had finished with the scratches, House began to conduct a more in-depth examination of Wilson's damaged torso.

"House?" Wilson asked, fear and uncertainty coloring his voice. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure that there isn't more damage than just some deep bruises and a couple possible broken ribs. Now hold still." House answered as he roamed his friend's torso with gentle fingers.

"House-"

"Wilson, just shut up and quit fidgeting." House interrupted growing annoyed.

"I was just going to ask for my phone back to order some take-out." Wilson answered with a hint of laughter in his voice.

"Oh." House answered before he tossed the requested phone over the man's shoulder. "Here."

"Thanks." Wilson inhaled, "Ok, so do we want Chinese, Tai or Pizza?" He let out a whimper as House pressed on a particularly tender spot on his shoulder.

"Sorry." House apologized as he lightened his touch. "Chinese sounds good." He offered.

Wilson dialed and ordered as House continued his examination, moving over to Wilson's right side where there seemed to be less damage while he was on the phone. Once he hung up, House drew in a deep breath, "Ok, I'm done. Now I want to have a look at your hip."

"You just said you were done!" Wilson accused having already let out a grateful breath that the inspection was over.

"And I added an amendment." House countered motioning for the man to do as he was told.

Wilson rolled his eyes and groaned but complied. He took off his pants and meticulously laid them on the arm of the couch. Refusing to take off his underwear, he stood before House; his arms once again wrapped protectively around himself, his shoulders hunched forward and shivering slightly but not from cold.

He felt very exposed standing in front of his friend like he was on display. It was bad enough that House had been disgusted by his body while examining him in the office but now he felt utterly defenseless. Open to attack and ridicule from the only person whose opinion has ever really meant anything to him.

It was strange that House - the pompous, smart-ass, self-important jerk that he was had managed to be come the most vital part of his miserable life.

Bending down to examine the bruised flesh on the younger man's left hip, House noticed the significant shape of the discolored skin. "Did she kick you?" He asked with no little amount of disdain.

"She'd been taking kick-boxing lessons." Wilson answered quietly. The despair that had been slowly building up since House had found out spilled out in that one sentence. _This is it. _Wilson thought as dread filled his mind. _This is the moment I will regret for the rest of my life. I have shown him how weak I am and now, he'll never be able to look at me without disgust or shame in those beautiful blue eyes. It'll be a miracle if he doesn't kick me out of his life completely._

Wilson knew that if ever there was a human trait House hated, it was weakness. Sure, stupidity ranked up there pretty close to number one but stupidity was something that was easy enough to ignore; especially since the man himself wasn't an idiot. Weakness however, was the one trait the diagnostician could see of himself reflected in everyone else and hated to be reminded of it.

Hearing the desolation in his friend's voice, House looked up to see unshed tears pooling in the captivating chocolate brown eyes. Having only ever seen Wilson cry this much while he was drunk, House found himself caught off guard by the salty pools of liquid covering his friends eyes like thin ice covering a puddle of water. He regained his composure quickly, careful not to let anything passed his careful mask of indifference. As he searched the brown orbs once more, things clicked into place and he knew. He's seen this look before, once not too long ago in the mirror; it was the look of grief at losing something important.

House continued to sit on the couch, carefully palpitating the deep bruising around Wilson's hip not wanting to cause the man any more pain than he's already suffered. He wanted to let the information he silently gleamed from the oncologist's expressive brown eyes sink in before he responded. If he had to guess, he'd say that the thing his friend was worried about losing was, him. But what why would the idiot think that?

He ran the day's events over and over through his mind from the moment he'd found out. He replayed every reaction he'd ever given and gauged Wilson's reaction to it. He remembered the blushing in Wilson's face as House had examined him; the diagnostician had just taken it for embarrassment but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was shame. Not shame at being beaten but at House having to touch him and see the damage; at House having to see the marks and realize what had happened. He thought House had been disgusted with him and the older doctor COULD see how he would think that but nothing was farther from the truth.

Stiffly standing up from the couch, House looked the oncologist in the face. Agonized, sorrowful irises met understanding, angry ones. "Wilson, you're an idiot." He said finally, his tone soft, comforting and genuinely friendly.

Confusion filled Wilson, registering on his handsome features. "You mean," he began hesitantly, scared that he had misunderstood House's meaning, "you're not disgusted-."

"No." House assured him. He was about to put his hands on the younger man's shoulders to ground him but remembering Wilson's injured shoulder he changed the action to the sides of his face. "It's Julie that's the sick one." He said, making sure to emphasis on the entire sentence while holding the other man's gaze. Dropping his hands away and gathering the trash from earlier, he walked into the kitchen muttering, "You're just too gentle for your own good."

Relief flooded Wilson's mind, releasing the dam that held his tears back and the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He collapsed onto House's couch, physically unable to hold himself up as the emotions and trauma of the passed three years came crashing in on him. Wilson covered his face and let the tears fall, not caring if the other man saw or if he thought Wilson was a girl for crying. House didn't find him disgusting or shameful after all and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Wilson's phone continued its shrill alert that Julie was calling the entire night. Every time he had tried to answer it to at least let her know where he was, though he figured she already knew, House would grab the phone out of his hand and hit the red 'ignore' button. When the calls stopped, Wilson felt unease settle in the pit of his stomach. It meant that she had given up. He knew that the next time he saw her, Wilson wouldn't be walking by his own power for the next two weeks at least.

Though House had promised that he wouldn't be going back to the house, Wilson didn't fully believe him. He knew House would say anything to get someone to stop crying; emotions weren't the diagnostician's strong suit. However, for the night at least, he could pretend it was true.

They sat in comfortable silence watching The OC and drinking beer. The food had come shortly after House had finished examining him and had been consumed quickly. When Wilson felt his head droop he immediately jerked it back up earning a snort from the man beside him.

"Go to sleep grandma." House mocked as he turned off the tv and stood up.

"Grandma?" Wilson asked confused, almost offended.

"Yeah. No one goes to sleep at 8:00 pm unless they're a grandma." House called back to him from the kitchen where he was depositing the dishes from dinner and the beer bottles.

"Well some of us actually get up early for work. You know, we like to be there on time rather than show up at 10:00 in the morning." Wilson quipped as he went and grabbed the pillows and blankets from the hall closet. House had given him a couple of ice packs to place over his ribs and shoulder so he was moving exponentially easier than he was when he had entered the apartment.

"Pfft." House scoffed. "Being at work on time is overrated. Get some sleep."

"Good night." Wilson answered sleepily, the sound of House's _step thump_ down the hallway lulling him to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Sunlight shone in the apartment windows, blinding the sleeping man on the couch. Wilson jerked his left arm over his eyes then groaned in pain. Just for a minute he had managed to forget about the hell Julie had put him through but his body quickly reminded him, bringing him back to reality within seconds of waking.

He sat upright, painfully stiff from his position on the lumpy couch, and looked around checking for the time. In place of his watch on the coffee table, he found a note:

_Called you in late, you needed the sleep. H_

The note brought a smile to Wilson's face. House was being nice and without any practical jokes played on him in the process.

He sat there, unnaturally happy by the note for an indeterminate amount of time before a dark brown, leather duffel bag caught his attention. It lay on top of the piano bench, out of the way yet noticeable from Wilson's perspective. He recognized it as his old duffel bag that he kept in the very back of his closet.

As the implications of the memory registered, Wilson flew off the couch and towards the bag. He hissed at the fiery shot of pain the spread throughout his side, chest and shoulder but ignored it in favor of reaching the bag, praying that House didn't really go to his house.

His heart skipped a beat when he opened the bag and found a few changes of clothing and his toiletries packed neatly inside. Damn, if House had been to his place then that couldn't have been good. However, since he hasn't received any more calls from Julie then maybe the older man went after she had left for work.

As if on cue, his phone chirped its alert that someone was calling. Wilson jumped at the sounds which made him cringe at the sharp pain that movement had brought. He grabbed the phone and answered without bothering to look at who was calling. "Hello."

"Where the hell are you?" Julie's angry voice demanded.

"House's, why?" He replied, hoping he kept the fear that surged through him at the sound of her outraged voice from escaping through his own.

"Because I'm here at your office, waiting for you." She growled.

The warning tone in her voice chilled him to the bone, sending ripples of shivers through his body and pain spiking in his injuries. "I'll be there in," he finally found his watch and checked the time; 10:30am, "thirty minutes."

"And what am I supposed to do for thirty minutes?" She demanded annoyed.

"I don't know. Go grab an early lunch at the cafeteria." He answered as he turned his attention back to the duffel bag and grabbed a set of clean clothes. "I gotta go." He told her before he hung up.

Wilson didn't know if he hung up so quickly out of fear or desperation, either way he knew he needed to change and get to work as soon as possible. He knew he was in deep trouble for not calling her last night and probably even more trouble for getting snippy then hanging up on her but right now he didn't care. Getting there sooner rather than later might help reduce the amount of punishment and he knew that she wouldn't do anything while he was at work anyways.

He dressed as quickly as he could, awkwardly brushed his teeth with his right hand and did his best to tame the mess of mop that was his hair before he ran out the door to PPTH.

* * *

Julie Wilson tossed her phone onto the bed with a satisfied sneer. She had heard the hints of panic and fear in her husband's voice when she told him that she was waiting for him at his office. She checked her watch, letting out a big yawn as she did so. If she left now, she could meet him there and pretend to look pissed.

When she had first woke up, Julie had thought that James had come home. She'd heard someone moving easily through the house but as she became more awake she heard the _step thump_ of his insufferable, ass of a friend Gregory House walking out her door. She thought about calling the police on the misanthropic bastard but she couldn't really prove anything and therefore left it alone, deciding to take it out on her husband instead. It'd be more fun that way anyways.

She guessed that since House had been there to pick up some things for James, he knew about the beatings. She grinned evilly when she thought of the added bonus of beating James, marking her territory on him by leaving marks and tormenting his friend with the knowledge that he couldn't stop her.

With the air of a princess slinking through her own well decorated castle, Julie got out of bed to get dressed and prepare to torment her husband. She didn't have to work today and she was bored. Besides, she needed some more practice for her class.

* * *

Wilson emerged from the stair well, panting painfully; he'd all but run here from his car. Ignoring the curious looks from his colleagues, House's fellows (who had just walked out the door) and House himself, he followed the chilly breeze the seemed to flow from his office.

His hand shook as he turned the knob of his office door, unsurprised that it was unlocked since almost the entire staff knew his wife and would readily open his office for her to wait in. He walked into his office, depositing his suit jacket on the coat rack and placing his brief case on the floor to the left of his desk.

Julie sat calmly on the couch opposite his desk, arms and legs crossed but looking completely relaxed. It was her icy sneer that froze him in place and filled his heart with fear. He'd seen that look before. It usually ended with him in pain for weeks from the bruises and injuries she left him with.

Silently she stood up and closed the door, locking it before she turned around to lean against it. He debated telling her about the balcony door that needed to be locked as well but the gnawing panic in his gut told him to keep his mouth shut since it was probably the only way help could come.

* * *

House sat in the conference room, bantering with his fellows when he first heard the sounds that something was wrong in Wilson's office. He heard a pained yelp then the crash of a potted plant falling to the floor. The ducklings gave him curious looks that changed immediately to frowns when they noticed their boss, frozen in shock and rage.

"What's going on in Wilson's office?" Cameron asked politely, snapping House of his daze.

"Nothing good," was all he replied. He limped into his office, poking his head back through the conference room door to toss a key at Chase while instructing him and Foreman to enter Wilson's office through the front door then for Cameron to call security and Cuddy.

Before he finished his instructions, they heard the door to Wilson's office slam shut and the elevator ding. House heaved a heavy sigh before he addressed them again. "Never mind." He told them as he limped out his balcony door to Wilson's.

He entered to find his friend easing himself painfully and unsteadily off the floor. House was at his side immediately when he swayed, threatening to collapse onto the floor. He slipped under Wilson's right side and helped ease him onto the couch.

A knock sounded on Wilson's door, scaring them and causing them both to jump with a start.

"What?" House answered while his eyes professionally scanned Wilson for signs of major trauma or injury.

"Is everything alright in there?" Chase's Australian accented voice asked through the door.

House kept his gaze on Wilson, trying to decide how best to answer.

Wilson's eyes were unfocused and judging by the rapidly forming bruise and trickles of blood on the side of his face, House would guess that Julie had hit him in the head with the now broken potted plant. His lip was split, bleeding and swollen, and there was a bruised handprint on his wrist.

House couldn't tell if he was hurt anywhere else but the dazed look on his friend's face and the scratches alone convinced him he'd need help. "Call Cuddy," he instructed the patiently waiting Chase, "then go grab the first aid kit and get in here."

Wilson grabbed his wrist, unfocused chocolate eyes staring at him in panic. "No." He objected after Chase had already left. "No one else can know."

House scoffed not unkindly. "Wilson, everyone is going to know real soon." He answered, gently wrapping his unoccupied hand over Wilson's and rubbing small, comforting circles on the back.

"No one can know." Wilson repeated stubbornly. "I'm fine."

The diagnostician felt cold rage surge through him but he kept the feeling at bay, not wanting to give his friend the wrong impression or scare him. "Wilson, once Cuddy gets here I'm going to have her examine you; I've already got the proper police forms for abuse in my office, she'll fill them out and make sure that you're ok."

"House, I'm fine. I've already told you." Wilson argued, letting go of House so he could scrub his right hand over his face.

"Yeah, somehow I don't believe you." House answered disbelievingly. "You have a bruise the shape of California on the side of your head, deep lacerations on your face and arms from the pot and you've possibly injured your arm;" he listed clinically, "Cuddy WILL do an examination when she gets here and you WILL let her."

Wilson's eyes focused on House's, his deep chocolate brown irises searching the warm cerulean blue. Though House would never admit it, Wilson could see the raw concern in them and knew that his insistence on Cuddy doing an examination wasn't just for Wilson's or the Police's benefit; it was for his own as well.

He laid his head back in defeat and closed his eyes. His head was pounding furiously and the light streaming in from the balcony door wasn't helping matters. He brought his shaking right hand up to cover his eyes and listened to the sounds of the normal activity around him.

The door to his office opened, admitting a confused Chase who stopped frozen to the spot for a few seconds before he regained his composure and brought the requested first aid kit over to House. Wilson lowered his arm and gave Chase an appreciative smile before House began to clean out some of the more superficial cuts. He heard the door to his office open again but instead of closing gently like it had when Chase had entered it slammed shut, the sound echoing painfully throughout his already throbbing head.

"What the happened?" Cuddy demanded, concern dripping off her voice like a leaky faucet.

"Nothing."

"Julie."

Both House and Wilson answered at the same time, throwing each other a glare. Cuddy studied the scene before her and the uncomfortable posture of her Head of Oncology then turned to Chase. "Would you excuse us please?" she asked politely.

"Uh, sure." Chase answered as his brows furrowed in confusion.

Once Chase left, Cuddy pulled up one of the vacant chairs that sat across from Wilson's desk. "Now, what happened here?" She asked softly as she placed the chair close to the spot on the couch where Wilson sat.

Wilson gave a nonchalant wave at House, conveying his approval. "Julie happened." House answered, moving out of the way to give Cuddy more room.

Cuddy's brows knit together in confusion, "okay," she prompted, drawing out the word and waiting for more of an answer. When neither man offered one she gave House a questioning look.

"I want you to do an exam." House answered to her unspoken question.

"I thought you said I wasn't a real doctor." She replied playfully with a challenging eyebrow.

"Yes but you're the only other one he'll trust right now." House answered gruffly, pointing a finger at Wilson who had begun to blush furiously.

She cocked her head to the side at his statement but decided to let it slide. "Alright." She conceded as she gently grabbed Wilson's arm to help him into the other vacant office chair. Wilson gasped and pulled his arm back, hugging it to his chest as he offered his other arm. She grabbed it and helped ease him off the couch, ignoring the sounds of pain and discomfort that escaped his lips.

Though the distance from the couch to the chair wasn't long Cuddy did have time to notice the way he guarded his left side and favored his left leg; clearly there was something more going on here than a possible concussion, a few bruises and lacerations.

Wilson whimpered, biting his lip in pain when he sat back down. Cuddy and House focused more closely on him, unnerving him with their undivided attention. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? Why couldn't they just let him curl up on his couch in a protective ball like he always does?

Cuddy gave him an appraising look, "I think I'd really like to get you into an exam room, I can't examine you properly here."

Wilson felt fear and panic clench his heart. His eyes widened at the prospect of showing himself like this to others besides House and Cuddy. He felt a soft, comforting hand touch his shoulder and squeeze; assuring him it would be ok. He looked up into House's face, his blue eyes gently urging him to allow her to do this. "Ok." He surrendered with a heavy, painful sigh.

House pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Chase before he hardened his grip on his friend's shoulder. Not painfully but just enough to ensure that he would stay sitting, however uncomfortably, in the chair while they waited. He felt his heart ache when frightened shivers rippled through his hand from Wilson's body. _I'm so sorry_ he apologized silently in his head, knowing he'd never be able to bring himself to say the words out loud.

Guilt was not an emotion that Gregory House was comfortable with but it toyed with him; coiling his stomach, tying his heart into knots and sending pain through his chest none the less. He didn't feel it often which only served to make it that much more definable whenever he did.

He had told Wilson that he wouldn't have to see Julie again, yet she somehow had managed to slip passed him in the hospital and lie in wait to attack in the oncologist's office. _Actually,_ claimed the self-serving voice in his head, _you only promised he'd never have to go back to the house. THAT promise you kept._

A soft knock sounded on the wooden door, snapping him from his reverie. Cuddy gracefully moved to open it, admitting Chase pushing a wheelchair. "Your chariot has arrived." The Australian quipped lightly, offering them all a warm smile.

"Thanks Chase." House answered.

Chase nodded and left, understanding that the offer of gratitude was a dismissal.

"Alright," House cried more cheerfully than he felt, "let's get you down to the clinic!"

"House," Wilson objected annoyed, "I can walk down there you know."

"Hm," the older man pretended to ponder, "Dr. Cuddy, would you say that it's wise for a patient with a possible concussion and a leg injury to try walking to their own exam?" He mocked.

"I don't have a concussion or a leg injury." Wilson responded, slowly standing up from the chair.

"You're right," House conceded, earning surprised looks from the other two in the room, "that bruising on your hip, just paint right?" He asked as Cuddy turned to look at Wilson with shocked horror written on her beautiful face. "And the fact that you can barely see straight means that your head's fine."

"You're sitting in the wheelchair." Cuddy demanded administratively.

"I'm fine." Wilson placated with the practiced ease of an oncologist who was used to assuring his patients.

"That may be but until I determine that for sure, you're using the wheel chair." She responded matter-of-factly, tapping the toe of her four inch heels impatiently while she stood behind the detested chair.

Switching his glance from Cuddy to House and back again, Wilson knew he was defeated and painfully complied. Cuddy moved the chair closer so he wouldn't have so far to go and he stiffly eased himself onto the hard, uncomfortable piece of equipment; hissing as pain ignited along the nerve endings throughout his body.

Throwing a longing glance at the coat rack, wishing he'd brought a longer coat to throw over himself, he allowed Cuddy to push him out of the blessed darkness and into the brightness of the hallway. The intense glow assaulted his vision, increasing the pounding in his head ten fold and nearly blinding him. He groaned and closed his eyes, laying his head against (and over) the back of the wheelchair. _This is going to suck!

* * *

_**There ya go! Hope you liked it. Click that little review button below to let me know!**

**Thanks All things! You're fantastic!  
**


	5. Chapter 5

_**Here you go, Chapter 5! Thanks so much to All things for making sure I stay as IC as I can for constantly helping me! **_

_**I hope you all like it. Review and let me know!

* * *

  
**_

**Chapter 5:**

Wilson uncomfortably sat on the exam table while House drew the blinds and Cuddy clipped the abuse forms to his patient file for him to fill out.

The ride down to the exam room had been humiliating as colleagues, coworkers and strangers stared at him. Some had worn masks of confusion and some masks of concern but all had shown curiosity to some extent.

House slouched in the patient waiting chair by the door; guarding it. Wilson gave him an appreciative smile before Cuddy came up to him.

"Can you take off your shirts please?" She asked softly yet clinically.

Wilson winced but managed to get his dress shirt unbuttoned, throbbing pain vibrating through his wrist and shoulder. He had some trouble with the undershirt though so Cuddy silently helped him slip it over his good arm and head.

Cuddy gave a small gasp of shock, her face reflecting the horror she felt at seeing her friend's bruised and damaged chest. "Julie did this to you?" She couldn't help asking, disgust and anger warring for dominance in her voice.

"Yeah," House answered, "we've already covered that, can we get on with the actual examination?"

She turned on him, "You know there's a reason why we ask the patient's family to wait outside while we do this."

"I want him here." Wilson interrupted, feeling the fear rise again at the prospect of House being kicked out. He knew it was completely childish needing his friend there to hold his hand but it made him feel safer.

House gave Cuddy a self-satisfied sneer but didn't comment. He knew that Wilson was feeling vulnerable and he needed something that made him feel safe there. It made his heart swell with pride that HE was that something.

"Ok," Cuddy answered the oncologist as she stepped closer to him, "how did this happen?"

"Which time?" Wilson asked without inflection.

Cuddy froze in her ministrations, trying to calm her racing heart. "Are you saying this isn't the first time?"

"Yeah." Wilson answered with a non-committal, one-shouldered shrug.

Cuddy bit back the furious retort she had lined up in her head; it wasn't aimed at Wilson and he didn't need another female yelling at him.

She began her examination, writing down every single thing she found wrong with his upper half starting with his head and ending with his stomach. She was pleased to find that she didn't suspect any internal injuries, other than broken or chipped bones, but that didn't help subdue the feeling of wanting to find Julie and beat the crap out her.

"Alright, I'm done with up here." She told him as she handed his shirts to him. "I need you to take off your pants please."

"Why can you never say that to me?" House exclaimed loudly causing both Cuddy and Wilson to blush with his volume.

"I like 'em nice." She said with a glint in her eyes causing Wilson to blush deeper.

Wilson slid off the table, sucking in a gasp of pain when the landing jarred his painful body. He tried balancing on both legs evenly but when his hip failed to support that much weight he was forced to put most of his weight on his right side.

He undid his belt, pants button and zipper allowing the pants to fall to the ground with an echoing _clink_. He stole a look at House, curious as to what his friend was thinking and was surprised to find him blushing slightly as well. House began to use a nearby pamphlet to fan himself with, pretending to be hot.

Wilson cocked his head slightly at the action, curiosities running through his head. House believed that Wilson blushed because he was being told to undress in front of her when in reality it was because he was being told to undress in front of House.

While he had done the exact same thing last night, House had been looking at him with a clinical eye. Now House can look at him however he wants and there were some ways that Wilson wouldn't mind House looking.

Burning pain exploded, spreading through his back to his thigh, bringing him back to reality. Cuddy had begun her examination of his legs, beginning with the most obvious place in need of attention; his hip. Wilson gasped, hissing at the pain. He hadn't really been paying attention and therefore wasn't prepared for the touch or the pain it would bring.

"Sorry." Cuddy apologized sincerely, lightening her touch. She winced at the sight of his badly bruised and obviously painful hip. Who could do this to another human being? Especially Wilson!

Though she would never admit it out loud, Cuddy really did think of Wilson as a puppy dog a lot of the time. Loyal to a fault, beautiful puppy-chocolate brown eyes, a pout worthy of a Sharpei or Cocker Spaniel and the ability to make everyone else feel better for being around him. Anyone who could physically (and no doubt emotionally) abuse a man like that deserved to be shot, hung and be-headed.

She looked up, surveying Wilson's face. Her heart clenched, sending shards of pain throughout her chest at the sight of her friend in so much unnecessary pain and exhaustion. His wife is supposed to be the one taking care of him, not hurting him. Seeing that he was nearing his endurance for standing on his injured hip, she gently guided him to sit down. "I just want to check your legs and feet." She explained at his confused look. She received a small nod of acquiescence and then continued.

House sat watching the whole process from the chair by the door. To the untrained eye he was a guarding observer, indifferent to what was actually going on but for those that actually knew him they would see the truth. His eyes stayed locked on his friend's mostly naked form.

At first glance, one would never know just how unbelievably attractive Wilson could be. Even despite the bruising and scratches, House sat there admiring the smoothness of the peach flesh. His first instinct was to run his hands over it but he held himself back realizing that would be slightly inappropriate just now for many reasons.

His eyes roamed his friend's chest, arms, stomach and back, often re-roaming once they'd finished. He felt a jolt in his heart and groin; one that he hasn't felt towards another man for quite some time. Blue eyes roamed again this time meeting curious and thankful brown causing House to turn his head quickly. Feeling the heat in his cheeks rise, he grabbed a nearby pamphlet to fan himself with while he pretended to be hot.

House saw Wilson cock his head curiously and his eyes become unfocused; thinking. He watched with curiosity born of a diagnostician as Wilson's faced remained impassive but his eyes expressed curiosity, reflection, longing, embarrassment and then pain. He knew what the pain was since Cuddy had just pressed on a tender spot on his friend's hip but the rest intrigued him. That was something he'd have to worm out Wilson tonight; maybe over a drink or two.

Cuddy bent down to take off Wilson's shoes, socks and pants feeling a little uncomfortable essentially undressing him this way. She had never thought of Wilson beyond a friend and younger brother. Seeing him this exposed and this vulnerable unnerved her.

She quickly examined his legs not surprised to see faded bruises sporadically spread all over them. She remembered him coming in to work one morning last week, limping heavily and giving some excuse of hurting his knee on stairs so she paid careful attention to his joints. She saw the fading but still fresh heel shaped bruise on the side of his left knee, lips sneering in disgust and blue-grey eyes slitting in anger; upon closer inspection she noticed there were several older bruises under and around the newest one. It seemed that Julie liked to kick her husband's knee repeatedly.

She moved on to his ankles, putting them through the normal tests and glad to see that they seemed to be okay. She then moved on to his feet, frowning slightly when she saw small scars all over them. "How did these happen?" She asked making sure to keep her voice clinical.

"Julie," Wilson began blushing at House's accusing stare, "liked to throw things, breakable things and she'd leave it for me to clean up. A few times I managed to step on something and fell."

"Well that explains the scars on the soles but what about the tops?" She asked.

"Most of the time she'd start throwing things I would have been home for awhile and she'd aim at my feet. It would look a lot worse if it wasn't for the fact that I usually wear socks." Wilson stared down at his scarred feet, refusing to meet House's eye. He knew his friend was mad at him for not mentioning this but he didn't care.

"This one," Cuddy pointed out, lightly touching a scar on the bottom of his foot, "is still quite pink." She commented, pressing on the line. "How long ago did this one happen?"

"Um," Wilson closed his eyes, trying to remember, "a couple weeks ago, Friday I think. Remember when I called in one Monday?" Cuddy nodded, "it was because I was still supposed to stay off my foot and I didn't want to come in to work just to be bombarded with more questions."

"You said you had a migraine." House accused.

"Believe it or not House, I can keep a secret from you." Wilson retorted annoyed.

"That part's obvious." House returned just as irritated.

Both sat in their respective places, glaring each other down. "Alright you two." Cuddy interjected, putting her body between the two of them. "Wilson, you can get dressed. I'm done, though I still have some questions for you." She turned towards the other, "House, you stay there and leave him alone. I'm going out to grab more paper. Be good."

Receiving two disbelieving snorts, she left. She had a lot of notations that needed to be made and this was just the initial exam, she cringed at the thought of what more she'd have to add after she got him to X-Ray and MRI.

Once she walked out, Wilson immediately began getting dressed. He started painfully with his pants, stubbornly managing to get them on while a couple groans escaped his lips. He continued on to his undershirt, awkwardly getting it over his injured side, head and then his right side. The oncologist tossed a glance at his dress shirt and decided, for the moment, to leave it where it lay.

Next it was time for his socks which presented a dilemma. Usually he was able to halfway bring his leg up and oddly slide them on over his foot but Julie had made sure it wouldn't be that easy this time.

"Need help?" House offered after watching his friend stare puzzlingly at his socks for a couple of minutes.

Wilson's head snapped up, searching the beautiful blue eyes of his friend for any hint of sarcasm, mockery or malice and upon finding none he nodded in the affirmative.

House hooked the rollable stool with his cane, dragging to him and hopping on. He rolled over to where Wilson sat uncomfortably on the exam bed and picked up the first sock. With gentle hands he grabbed his friend's foot and slid the sock on over it, inwardly wincing at the depth, age and multitude of the scars on his feet. He repeated the process with the other foot, taking extra care not to move it too much since it was the injured side.

"Thanks." Wilson said, letting out a breath of relief. At House's touch he felt desire, happiness and anxiety float through him leaving him almost breathless. When had he fallen for his best friend?

House nodded, "Do you need help with the shoes?"

Wilson hung his head dramatically; he'd forgotten about the shoes. "Yeah, I guess so."

House complied, slipping each loafer on and tying them.

Cuddy entered in time to see him put Wilson's shoes on, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. She noticed the recently vacated chair and pulled it up, placing the extra paper she had gotten in Wilson's patient file and settling it on her lap to write in. "Ready?"

"Yeah." Wilson answered, ready to get this over and done with. Sitting on the side of the bed had become torture on his hip, leaving him with a constant burning pain, so he shifted uncomfortably trying to ease the pain. Unfortunately no position while sitting up was comfortable on his hip and moving around only brought to life the pain from the rest of his body. He grimaced as his body reminded him of this then clenched his teeth until the pain and fire in his body subsided.

"Are you alright?" Cuddy asked, her concern mirroring House's.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I moved wrong." He answered with a pained smile.

"You are not fine you idiot!" House answered almost yelling at him while he stood up and walked over to his friend. He tugged on Wilson's right arm, "Come here." He instructed, smiling when the other man did as he was told. He sat Wilson down on the stool he was previously occupying having noticed the reason his friend was shifting; he knew the stool would be SLIGHTLY easier on Wilson's hip.

Wilson sat gratefully on the stool, closing his eyes in relief. "Here," he heard. He opened his eyes to find Cuddy handing him a couple pills of Tylenol and a bottle of water. He looked at her confused, when had she gone out and grabbed this stuff? He gave a one-shouldered shrug, deciding it didn't really matter, and swallowed the acetaminophen with the entire bottle of water.

"Better?" Cuddy asked once again taking her seat.

"Yeah." He answered though the medicine hadn't started taking affect yet.

"How long has this been going on?" She asked knowing he was ready to begin.

Wilson paused, trying to remember just how long this has been going on. "Three years..." He answered, screwing up his eyes in concentration.

"Is there a trigger or is it random?" She asked wanting to know more for herself than the forms.

"There's a trigger." Wilson answered quietly knowing her next question would be 'what?'

"What is it?"

"Spending time with House rather than her." Wilson mumbled.

House nearly dropped his cane that he had been twirling. He shifted on the exam bed to face Wilson who was looking anywhere else but at House. "You're saying every time you were hanging out at my place, you went home to receive a beating for it?" He half asked, half accused.

Memories of all the times Wilson and he had spent together not at the hospital flashed through his mind coupled with the memories of seeing the bruises on Wilson tortured him with images of Wilson going home to be punched, kicked and scratched by his wife. Then his mind began to run through little scenes that he knew they had afterwards to see if he could see a glimmer of a hint that something was wrong.

A couple of times his brain screamed at him _Right there you idiot!_ but every other time, nothing. House felt a sense of pride swell through him at his friend; he'd finally learned how to keep a secret from him. Too bad it was a secret that he shouldn't have had to keep at all.

"Yes." Wilson answered finally bringing himself to face his friend. He hated hearing the accusing tone in House's voice but he knew he'd feel exactly the same way and be fifty times less calm about it than House was if the roles were reversed so he accepted it.

"Why didn't you come to one of us?" Cuddy asked gently, breaking the tension between the two.

"That's not on the forms." Wilson declared focusing on Cuddy.

"No, it's not." She responded unflinchingly, her eyebrows rose in admittance. "I want to know that one. Why didn't you come to me and tell me?" She asked again with something akin to pleading in her voice. "I mean, I can understand not going to House; he's not exactly known for his caring and gentle nature but you could have said something to me. Asked for help."

Wilson drew in a deep breath trying to keep himself from closing off at the seemingly intrusive question. "It's like I told House, I knew the rules and I knew the consequences for disobeying them."

"Wilson this isn't like you were put in time-out for stealing a cookie even though you knew what would happen." Cuddy retorted not unkindly. "She is not your mother; she has no right to "punish" you like this."

"My mother never punished me this way." Wilson deadpanned putting a soft emphasis on the word "mother".

"But your father did?" She quipped disbelievingly.

Wilson avoided her gaze, not wanting to give an actual answer to that but knowing that his refusal to answer was just as good. "This is the way things work." He responded.

"But they're not supposed to." She insisted more than a little surprised to find out that Wilson's father used the same kind of discipline as his wife.

Wilson opened his mouth to argue but no sound came. He knew that, rationally she was right but his mind kept raging against the idea. Knowing he wasn't going to convince her of his point of view he hugged his left arm close to his side, covering and protecting it with his right. "Are we done?" He asked wearily.

"No." She answered. "I want to get you to X-Ray and an MRI. I want to see how many injuries you've had in the past or currently have. It's required in these cases."

"Fine." Wilson submitted slowly standing up and limping towards the door.

"Didn't you forget something?" House's voice asked behind him.

Wilson turned around to see House pointing towards the earlier vacated wheelchair. "House, I don't need that."

"That limp says otherwise."

"You limp all the time and no one forces you to use a wheelchair."

"It's normal for me to limp, it's not for you."

"Oh, so I'm supposed to be chauffeured around my own hospital in a wheelchair for normality?"

House didn't bother with a response. He gave an overly-done eye roll and headed for the door. "Call me when you're done with your tests; I'll take you home."

"You can't seriously expect him to go back there!" Cuddy demanded standing up quickly.

"Why not? Sure, it may not be clean but it's safe." House answered in mock confusion.

Wilson let out a small laugh, "Cuddy, he means his apartment."

"Like I said, home." House said cheerily before he exited.

Cuddy blew out an exasperated breath and turned to Wilson. "Will you please get in the wheelchair?"

"Cuddy, I'm fine. I don't need that."

She took a pause to gather a calming breath. "But I do. I know that the pain your in is nothing compared to the pain that House is in but it's still hard for me to see you in any sort of pain. It's hard for me to watch you limp." She gave another pause to let her words sink in. "I think that's the point House was trying to make as well." She nudged knowing that Wilson was a sucker for anything to do with House.

Wilson closed his eyes, letting her words wash over him. "Okay." He replied, gingerly lowering himself into the hard chair.

"Thank you." Cuddy said, getting behind the chair and pushing. "Now, let's get you to Radiology. You've got about two hours of tests."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

The _click_ of the latch releasing echoed through the empty apartment soon followed by the _step thump_ of House's uneven walk and the soft _tap tap_ of Wilson's shoes. They had finally arrived home after the gruelingly long time spent in Radiology. House was excited to be home since it was 1:30pm and he was supposed to be in his office catching up on his files or debating symptoms with his team; instead he was at home, getting ready to sit on the couch and watch his favorite shows until tomorrow morning. Granted, he was supposed to be taking care of Wilson but the oncologist was a grown man and could take care of himself. Although, bugging him to say what he was thinking in the exam room will be fun.

Wilson was just relieved to be away from prying, nosey eyes. Everywhere he went in the hospital, someone was there to wish him well, ask what happened or just blatantly stare at the bruises on his face and arm; he found it annoying and if he hadn't been busy wishing the earth would swallow him whole, he might have lashed out at them.

He slowly lowered himself onto the couch, curling his body inward to protect his slinged arm. The X-rays of his shoulder had revealed several hairline fractures, two small chips and some ligament damage so Cuddy had insisted on using a sling to help it heal quicker. Though he wasn't really in disagreement with her, Wilson had argued for the sake of seeming like the difficult patient he had been known to be.

House watched the other man's movements to make sure that he was doing okay. Though he knew that Wilson was a grown man and capable of taking care of himself (in fact he insisted upon it), he also knew that Wilson would never come right out and say what he needed.

Wilson was the kind of guy who tried to never complain when he was in pain. Being an oncologist and House's best friend he knew all to well that others were in far more pain than he would ever admit himself to feeling. So House had learned how to watch him for the signs: the wrinkled lines around his eyes and mouth deepening, his hands clenching and releasing on whatever they go get a hold of or sometimes nothing at all, and the most telling of all – the way his brown eyes deepened becoming chocolate pools of pain.

After looking at him and seeing nothing but exhaustion, House returned his attention to putting on one of his soaps; most of them were on around noon or one but a couple good ones had begun to start at two. He leaned back against the couch, sprawling out but leaving enough room for Wilson to do the same.

Wilson noticed with appreciation the space that House had left for him on the couch and though he felt most comfortable with House, he still wasn't 100%, so he kept to himself but not uncomfortably. He allowed his body to relax, thankful that the Tylenol was still dampening the pain, but stayed on his own side of the couch; not bothering to venture further over though he desperately wanted to feel the other man close to him, feel the heat radiating off him and spreading into Wilson's assuring the oncologist that his friend was still there and he was safe.

Every once in a while House would steal a peak at Wilson through his peripheral vision to check on him. He smiled appreciatively at the way Wilson kept staring at him longingly but resisting the urge to act. He couldn't tell if Wilson wanted to be close to him for safety and strength or just to be close to him but he didn't really care since his own urges had him wishing to do the same.

"Get over here, I'm cold." House griped, gesturing for Wilson to join him.

"So use a blanket." Wilson answered.

"But you're closer and I don't have to get off the couch to get you." House saw that Wilson was about to comment and so he continued, "just get over here already," he said irritably, laying a soft hand on Wilson's arm and gently pulling.

Wilson felt his heart flutter at the touch and found himself unable to do anything but comply with the other man's demands. "Fine," he grumbled so as to appear not to give in too easily. He scooted over, the distance between the two of them lessening with every uncomfortable scoot, until his right thigh and House's left were rubbing together. Wilson worried that he had gone too far but when House didn't comment and continued watching his soap instead; he gave a mental shrug and before he turned his attention to the TV likewise.

They sat like that for a couple of hours through some several day old recorded soaps; comfortably touching but not breaking any boundaries that neither wanted broken. When he felt a hand being lain on his thigh and rubbing it gently, Wilson jumped painfully. He hadn't been expecting the contact let alone from House.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." House replied as he started pulling his hand away.

Wilson reached out his hand, stilling the other's movements. "It's ok, just wasn't expecting it. It felt nice though." A smirk appeared on House's face and Wilson wished that he could read the other man's mind. He couldn't tell if House was playing with him, trying to comfort him this way because he thought it was what Wilson wanted or if he actually wanted the contact.

He felt his mind go to mush when House's hand began to gently knead the muscle in Wilson's thigh. "House," he said breaking the silence between them, "what's going on?" This wasn't the gentle rubbing House's hand had started with.

"It's a massage. I thought you of all people could recognize that given the amount of them you've given me." House quipped with satisfaction and the near moan that escaped his friend's mouth as he asked the question. He kept the pressure gentle but firm enough to release the tension he could feel in the muscle, working his way around it and noticing with no little amount of satisfaction the way Wilson shuddered pleasantly the closer he got to the man's groin.

"You don't normally give massages so forgive me if I'm a little suspicious." Wilson answered trying his best to keep in any moan of pleasure at how wonderful the touch felt.

"Maybe I just want to make you feel good." House dismissed thickly, his concentration no longer on the TV.

"Why would you want to do that? You hate touching people." Wilson argued, determined to get to the bottom of things one way or another.

"You really are a daft idiot aren't you?" House chuckled, his hand still massaging the other man's thigh. "I hate touching other people, not you." He answered Wilson's previous question. "I watched with pleasure as you stripped earlier today and couldn't help but wonder if your skin was as smooth as it looked."

Wilson felt himself shudder at the predatory tone in his friend's voice. He couldn't decide if he liked it since he knew who it was talking to him or if that only made things worse. While taking care of his friend during the infarction, Wilson had learned how cruel House could truly be if he wanted to. Oh, he knew others thought the man was cruel on a daily basis but Wilson knew that the diagnostician held himself back daily. He knew House knew what buttons to press when he wanted to hurt someone and how to prey on others with the ease of a lion.

House noticed the shudder and stopped his ministrations. "Wilson?" He asked concerned by the blank look on his friend's face and the fear in his eyes.

"Yeah, sorry." Wilson answered, snapping himself out of his frightened daze. Then the words House had spoken finally registered in his mind. "Did you really watch with pleasure?" he asked in shock.

House smiled a true smile. "Yeah." He leaned in, planting a soft kiss on the other man's lips. "Just to let you know what I mean." He answered the unasked question in his friend's face after he had pulled back.

"Well," Wilson said, his voice cracking, "that was pleasantly unexpected."

"Pleasantly huh?" House asked, his attention once again back on the TV, "so you want to do it again."

"Definitely," the oncologist responded right away, "but let's wait until I can move easier. My hands find they want to roam and can't while one is confined."

"Let me know when that is and I'll take the day off work. We wouldn't want to rush the roaming." House smirked before both men fell into silence and watched bad acting combined with bad lines on the TV.

* * *

The living room was dark with the only light coming from the TV. The sounds of gunfire and frightened horses filled the silence that only added to the effect the movie had on its viewers. Huddled close, the two lovers watched with fixation as Clint Eastwood kicked every dirty, rotten cowhide he came across.

Three months had passed since their decision to start a relationship beyond that of friendship and Wilson couldn't be happier. Never had any of his wives or girlfriends left him this satisfied with their relationship. It was the "honeymoon" period and Wilson thought it akin to walking on air.

Wilson almost laughed out loud when he was reminded of the scene from _Bambi_ where the Owl was informing Bambi and his friends about love. It was funny to think of House as "twitter-pated." In all fairness, Wilson was just as twitter-pated as House seemed to be.

The first couple of months Wilson kept expecting something to go wrong or House to lash out at him. He jumped at every overt gesture and did what he was told without complaint; something that both unnerved and annoyed both of them. The oncologist knew that it was ridiculous and that House didn't really want a servant for a boyfriend but some unspoken threat in the back of his mind kept urging him to do whatever House asked. Some part of him thought that if he didn't submit to House's every demand that the diagnostician wouldn't want him around.

As time progressed though, Wilson got more comfortable with his and House's relationship. He began to feel like his old self again and was able to argue or gesture wildly with House without feeling fear of being struck. He was able to tell House to clean up his own laundry and do his own dishes without wondering if House would drop him along with their relationship like a bad habit.

Cuddy had turned the abuse forms over to the cops and Julie had been arrested. Wilson had been nervously present throughout the trial. He had been placed on the witness stand then asked questions that had made him blush with embarrassment and shame.

Julie's lawyer had tried to argue that he could have stopped her and had implied that since he didn't, she wasn't as much to blame as the court had led them all to believe. His lawyer had objected at the implication and the other man had apologized for the implication with as much sincerity as House apologizes when he tells someone their dying.

He had felt like he was on exhibit when the pictures Cuddy had taken along with the X-Ray and MRI images had been posted on a board similar to House's white board, then asked to explain how each injury had happened.

The day the Judge had convicted her of Assault and Battery with the sentence of ten years in prison and a chance to get out after seven with good behavior was the first day he took an easy breath. The whole nightmare of the trial was over and he would never have to go through that again.

With a content sigh, Wilson turned his attention back to the movie in time to witness Eastwood get thrown to the ground by the force of a shotgun only to get back up and reveal the iron chest protector he'd been wearing. He had to admit, it was a good movie. Good guys that weren't so good, bad guys that were all bad, and girls that were nice to look at; it had House written all over it.

He stole a glance at his partner through his peripheral vision. House had had a bad day with his leg and Wilson wanted to gauge how he was doing.

House sat on the couch right leg resting gingerly on the coffee table while his right hand massaged and kneaded the damaged muscle. The lines around his eyes were wrinkled and his eyes were narrowed in pain. Wilson sat cuddled with House but still giving him enough room to move and shift if necessary.

When the movie ended Wilson got to turn the TV off then began clearing the coffee table of beer bottles, a popcorn bowl and an empty Scotch glass; House had consumed enough alcohol to knock out a well muscled man in an effort to drown out the pain. _Just another thing to help destroy his liver, _Wilson thought sardonically as he padded barefoot into the kitchen.

House watched his friend go about cleaning like a housewife with an appreciative eye. Just because he was in more pain than usual didn't mean that he couldn't admire that which was beautiful. Pulling out his Vicodin from his pocket, he popped a few in his mouth and waited for them to work their magic.

"The leg still hurt?" asked Wilson as he re-settled next to the diagnostician on the couch. He already knew the answer but he couldn't stop himself from asking anyways; he's always hated seeing his friend in pain.

House grunted, but didn't say anything. The pain was slowly escalating despite having just taken three Vicodin and enough alcohol to relax his father. With both hands rhythmically rubbing his leg, House leaned forward in an attempt to lessen the agony coursing through his thigh.

"Let's get you to the bed," Wilson suggested placing a soothing hand on his lover's right shoulder. He knew the couch wasn't good for House's leg and once there, with the help of a good massage and a heating pad, hopefully the pain will die down enough so that House could get some rest.

"Leave me alone," House snapped, his eyes burning cold with fury as he shrugged the hand off his shoulder. Damn his leg hurt! Couldn't Wilson see that every nerve ending his limb was on fire and the thought of moving made him nauseous? The man prided himself on being so observant and all knowing when it came to House, how could he not notice this?

Undaunted by the anger in his friend's voice, Wilson shifted his hand underneath House's armpit while his other grabbed a hold of the diagnostician's wrist. "Come one, I'll help you," he said gently as he began pulling on the scruffy doctor's arm.

"I _said, _leave me alone," House growled. The pain hadn't been this bad in a long time and he just wanted to be left alone with his ever present and unwanted companion. But Wilson, being Wilson, was either too dense to see that or he was ignoring it. Without a word, the younger man began to heft him off the couch making the torture he was going through to increase dramatically. Lacking any control he might have had under different circumstances, House blindly lashed out at the thing causing him more agony.

Stunned, Wilson (having started to stand so he could haul his friend off the couch) lost his balance from the sheer force behind the blow. He felt his back twist and his head snap back just before his head hit the side of the coffee table. It took him several seconds to clear the fog the blow had created and realize that House had just punched him in the jaw. Wilson looked up at the realization, staring at his lover in shock as blood trickled from his split lip.

"House," Wilson said hesitantly as he got up off the floor and sat next to the man. He placed a comforting hand on tense shoulders and tried to sooth the muscles into relaxation.

But House wasn't paying attention to the oncologist. He was reeling at the fact that punching Wilson had made him feel better; he chalked it up to a momentary rush of adrenaline as he let everything out and gave him something else to think about. Guilt swelled in him but it wasn't enough to over shadow the relief he'd felt when he experienced the shot of epinephrine. The pain spiked again, taking his breath away and House made his choice.

Wilson had been rubbing circles on House's back when the punches started. The first one landed on the same spot as the previous, sending sparks of throbbing pain throughout his jaw and head. At first the blows were hesitant, landing sporadically on his cheek, jaw and eye then they gained more confidence landing harder and with more precision.

Not fully believe what was happening, Wilson didn't defend himself. _This is a dream, _he thought, _this can't be real. It's just a dream._

But it wasn't a dream. House was really beating him; just like his father had done and just like Julie. Tears filled his eyes with pain at the realization and the beating as he curled into a fetal position on the back corner couch, hugging the arm close while blow after blow rained down on him.

Wilson felt confusion swarm through his mind, filling it with the buzzing of a thousand bees. House was supposed to be protecting him, not hurting him.

Worn out, House stopped his assault. The pain in his leg had died down to a bearable level so he was able to return to conscious thought again. He looked down at the curled form of his lover from his standing position, panting from the previous exertion. His heart broke as he scanned the bruised and bloodied form of his friend; he had done this to Wilson. He had done the very thing he'd sworn to protect the younger man from.

Remorse and anger threatened to overwhelm him as he awkwardly knelt down in front of the Wilson, careful of his leg. He spared a disgusted glance at the useless thing that had caused him to do this. The pain in it had been so bad that it made him hurt the only person that really mattered to him.

"Wilson?" he offered softly, startling the other man. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, _he inwardly wept as a pair of bruised, broken, and tear filled brown eyes met his. House felt his heart clench painfully, the tightening in his chest that it created threatening to cut off his air supply; he had done this.

"Wilson," he repeated through the lump in his throat, "it was the pain. It-it wasn't me." He soothed, pleading for the younger man to understand that he would never hurt him under his own free will.

Wilson stared at him, searching his eyes for the truth then slowly nodded and uncurled himself; wincing at every movement. House reached out to help but pulled back like a snake had bitten him when his friend flinched away from his touch.

Silently, House promised to never let his pain control him like that again.

* * *

**_There you go folks! Hope you liked it. Click that little review button below to let me know!_**


	7. Chapter 7

**WARNING: This chapter is rated M++ for violent content. Any of you whom are sensitive to abuse topics, alcoholic topics or one being lightly torturing another should NOT read.**

**AN: I may be editing this chapter once my partner All things has had a chance to review it.

* * *

  
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**Chapter 7:**

_**BEEP BEEP BEEP**_

Wilson's alarm blared letting him know it was time to get up and get ready for work. He scrubbed a hand over his face, grimacing and groaning when pain flared in his back and throbbed in his head. Last night's events came rushing to him in HD clarity; House in pain, House hitting him, House punching any part of Wilson he could find.

The memory made Wilson want to cry again. House had said that it wasn't him; that the pain had made him do it but Wilson wasn't sure if he believed the other man or not. He knew that House's pain ruled his life but the scruffy doctor was usually able to keep it from controlling his personality.

"You ok?" House asked gruffly, his voice breaking into Wilson's thoughts like a baseball breaking through a window.

Wilson stiffly shifted onto his right side, staring at House who was mimicking his position. "Are you?"

"No." House answered honestly.

Wilson couldn't help the look of concern that crossed his face at this statement. "Does your leg still hurt?"

"My leg's fine," House answered, wincing as he continued to stare at the deep bruising on his lover's face.

Wilson's left eye was swollen to point where there was only a slit to see out of, his cheek and jaw had fist shaped bruises and his split lip was about the size of a worm.

House knew there were a few more fist shaped bruises on Wilson's torso but the t-shirt he wore hid them. Acting on instinct he reached out his hand and gently brushed the bruises, not surprised when Wilson shrank back at the action and began to shy away from his touch. "I'm sorry." He said, guilt thickening his voice as he brought his arm back at his own side.

He wanted to cry whenever Wilson flinched away from his touch but he knew he deserved it. He still found it unbelievable that he'd let the pain control him and took it out on his friend. Every time he thought about it House felt pain shoot through his chest, squeezing his heart and churning his stomach acidly. "You never answered my question." He pointed out, blue eyes seeking brown.

"I'll live." Wilson answered. "How should we explain this at work?"

The heart that had dangled so precariously on a string dropped into House's stomach; he hadn't thought of that. "You shouldn't go to work; you'll scare your bald-headed kiddies."

"And whose fault is that?" Wilson snapped. His eyes widened in horror and his left hand flew to his mouth. "House, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

"Yes you did." House countered calmly, "And it's true; it is my fault," his hand snaked across the vastness of space between he and Wilson then found the other's hand, "and I'm so sorry."

Wilson froze in his ministrations of getting his hand out of House's by the admission. He looked into House's cerulean eyes, taken aback when he found sincere concern, remorse and shame; three feelings House never showed. "I know, it's ok." He assured his worried friend. "We still haven't decided how we're going to explain this at work? What do you think, bar fight believable?" He joked with a smirk and he sat up, groaning at the protests coming from his back and head.

"That's it." House's annoyed voice exclaimed quietly behind him before he felt cold hands raising his t-shirt.

"What are you doing?" Wilson questioned, jumping at the unexpected contact.

"Examining you. You wouldn't let me do it last night which I understood but I am not letting you go to work unless I'm able to inspect you. Doctor's orders." House explained while he got out of bed and walked around to Wilson's side.

"Inspect me?" Wilson countered.

"Yes inspect and unless I'm satisfied with the results of my inspection, you aren't going to work." House grabbed an armchair that previously sat unnoticed against the wall and dragged it over to where Wilson sat staring at House. "Now, take your shirt off."

"House I'm fine," Wilson argued defiantly, "just bruised."

"Sorry, not buying it." House answered with a tick of his head. "It doesn't explain why you groan every time you twist your back."

"Because it hurts to twist my back." Wilson answered exasperatedly.

"Exactly," House claimed in an "ah-ha!" voice, "I'm pretty sure I never touched your back so there isn't a good reason for it to be hurting."

"Or," the annoyed oncologist answered, "when you first hit me, the force twisted my back and as a result I strained something."

"Oh come on, don't be a girl. I didn't hit you that hard." House defended.

"Didn't hit me that hard!" Wilson exploded, arms flailing wildly. "House, I can barely see out of my eye, my side feels like it's on fire every time I move and my back sends damn near debilitating throbbing pain shooting throughout my spine when I move too fast! How hard do you have to hit for the pain to be justified?" Before House could answer, Wilson threw up a silencing hand. "Just leave it alone, ok. You're not getting an examination and I need a shower."

With that declaration, Wilson stiffly stood up from the bed and stormed out as fast as he could, slamming the door to the bathroom behind him.

House dropped his head into his hands with a tired sigh. He was happy that Wilson felt comfortable enough to yell at him for what he had done but he hated that it was necessary to begin with. He hated the way Wilson pulled away from him and the way Wilson's words stung deeper than House would admit. He hated the way the pain in his leg ruled his life.

He clenched his right hand, reveling in the pain the action brought. This pain was good; it was deserved and easily controlled. His eyes quickly ran over his bruised knuckles, determining if there was enough damage to do anything about, then he stood up to begin getting ready for work himself. Though his friend didn't seem to want him around, House wasn't going to let Wilson walk into that hospital alone.

* * *

Dr. Lisa Cuddy stood just inside the glass clinic doors, waiting to pounce. Her prey walked in, early, and completely unprepared for her attack; she'd get him this time!

She walked authoritatively up to House, determination in her eyes, and ready to hoodwink him into doing his clinic hours for the passed two days today. She stopped dead in her tracks when her blue-gray eyes focused on the man beside House, looking like he'd been mugged and beaten.

"Wilson," she said; her voice a combination of shock, horror, confusion and concern, "what happened?"

"Bar fight," House answered for the younger man, "he doesn't know how to duck."

"If he were in a bar fight, then you were involved and since I don't see a single mark on you with the exception of your bruised hand then I'm assuming that it wasn't an actual bar fight." She countered, gently leading the injured oncologist to her office.

Two knowing and uncomfortable looks passed between the men, something that didn't go unnoticed by Cuddy, when she made her latest statement. The wheels in her underused brain started turning. Something was going on and neither wanted her to know about it.

She closed the doors, walked around her desk and sat down facing the two department heads with an appraising eye. They both looked uncomfortable with the scrutiny but neither made a move to derail it. She looked at the bruising around Wilson's eye, cheek and jaw noting that the markings did indicate someone had punched him but something in his demeanor and the way he shied away from House sent warning bells in her head. As the puzzle pieces clicked, her eyes ran from House's bruised hand to Wilson's badly bruised face and back again. Her eyes widened in realization and that's when Wilson started fidgeting more.

"I really should go. My first patient will be arriving in about ten minutes and then I have backlogged paperwork from Friday to finish." He excused as he carefully stood up.

"Sit down." She commanded. "You're not leaving until I have the truth out of both of you. I'll call Sascha and ask her to stall your patient."

Wilson did as he was told, flinching at her tone and grimacing as pain shot down his spine.

"Did you hit him?" She hissed at House, satisfied to see shock in his eyes.

"Yeah, can we go now?" House answered impatiently.

"No you cannot go! You just admitted to beating your best friend." Cuddy answered appalled that he was taking this so lightly.

"And lover." House added with a smirk.

Cuddy's mouth hung open. She had suspected that they were together but still the callous and casual way House had admitted it floored her.

"House," Wilson admonished. "Lisa, there really is no need for this. I'm fine."

"Yes, I can see that by the fact that you can barely see out of your left eye." She quipped angrily. "How are you ok with this?"

"Because it wasn't his fault." Wilson replied, forgiving House with that one statement.

"Not his fault? His fist hit your face; repeatedly by the looks of it."

"You should see his side," House snarked in a tone that suggested 'You should see the other guy!'

Cuddy sat behind her desk, her arms lay flat on top and her mouth open.

"What no comeback? No words of congratulations at our wonderful news?" House asked in mock hurt as he reached over to grab Wilson's hand.

She sat in silence, contemplating whether to yell at him or laugh at him. Her decision was made when she noticed the way Wilson flinched at House's contact. "Get out." She told the diagnostician, shaking her head and pointing towards her door. "You will be doing clinic duty all day and I do not want a word of protest." She commanded.

"Oh come on!" House objected loudly. "I get clinic duty all day because I hit Wilson? That's not fair."

"Fair? You want to talk about fair?" Cuddy challenged, rising from behind her desk. "How about me having to cover your clinic hours for the passed two days because you were too lazy to show up? Or how about the fact that your friend can't see out of one of his eyes because you felt like slamming your fist into his face?"

"I was in pain, Wilson knows that." House dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"So just because you were in pain you thought that Wilson should be too?" She raged walking around her desk and unconsciously putting her body between House and Wilson.

"Of course not, that's ridiculous!" House scoffed.

"THAT'S ridiculous? My attempt at a logical idea coming from your Vicodin addled brain is what's ridiculous in this situation?" She scoffed in return.

"Alright, that's enough!" Wilson yelled, painfully stepping in between the two with his back to House.

House had stepped up to rise to Cuddy's challenge with a perfect retort on his lips. He hadn't realized that Wilson had come between them until he practically ran the man over then heard a gasp and a small cry of pain. Guilt wrapped around his heart, squeezing painfully, when he saw his friend bent over with his hand on his lower back.

"Are you alright?" Cuddy asked ignoring House and stepping up to support her friend.

"Yeah," Wilson answered gruffly as Cuddy led him to the couch, his teeth clenched in pain.

"What's wrong?" She asked, her doctor's eyes searching him for sign of injury.

"I strained my back last night; I'll be fine." He answered drawing in deep breaths to help calm the pain. Wilson looked up to find House staring intently at him, a concerned question in the older man's eyes that he would never voice with Cuddy in the room. He gave House a nod and then dropped his head to grimace as another jolt of pain shot through his body.

Cuddy watched the interaction between the two men curiously, noticing the way Wilson looked for House and the way he nodded. She turned her attention to House and saw exactly what Wilson had seen. She felt the rage that surged through her, warming her blood to boiling, die down at the look of concern and remorse in his eyes. "You should be at home." She told her head of oncology softly.

"That's exactly what I told him!" House chirped triumphantly.

"Clinic, now." Cuddy growled, waiting for the sound of her door opening and then closing before she talked again.

"Cuddy, I appreciate the concern but I'm fine." Wilson told her, cutting her off.

"No, you're not." She answered, taking her hands away from him but not moving away. "If you won't go home fine, but you're not meeting patients looking like this."

Wilson wanted to argue with her amendment but knew he was in no shape to meet with patients. "Ok, I don't think I'd be up for it anyways." He conceded sadly. He hated letting his patients down and making them see another doctor or cancelling on them altogether.

Cuddy had seen the thoughts cross his eyes, "I think they'll understand." She assured as she stood up and called his assistant, telling her to cancel his appointments for the next couple of days.

Wilson smiled gratefully at her, half his face complying the other complaining, and left. Well, they'd failed that test. If they couldn't fool Cuddy how were they going to fool everyone else? Then again, not everyone knew House and Wilson as well as Cuddy did so maybe it'd be easier.

He saw Chase coming down the hall to him, smiling at first and then frowning in concern when he got a good look at the oncologist. _Well, _Wilson thought, _no time like the present to learn how to lie!

* * *

_

Four months later the rumor mills were still running. Some claimed that House beat Wilson because he liked it, some claimed that House had beat him because he had been caught cheating and some just said it was an accident. One thing stayed constant; they all agreed that House had done it.

While it was true, it still bothered Wilson at how easily everyone in the entire hospital was willing to believe that his friend could beat up another person. The House THEY knew wouldn't but lately Wilson had been introduced to a new one.

This House had become even more dependant on his Vicodin and while at home, washed it down with two to five drinks of Scotch. Every night Wilson had tried to get House to stop drinking so much and each attempt was met with a fury Wilson was frightened to see. It was the fury of an alcoholic refusing to admit he had a problem.

He walked in to the apartment not at all surprised to find House sitting on the couch in jeans, t-shirt, bare feet and a very full glass of amber liquid in his hand. "Hey," he greeted tiredly. He wasn't in the mood to deal with this tonight. "You eat dinner yet?"

"Nope." House answered simply before draining his glass.

"How many of those have you had?" Wilson asked.

"Mm, 'bout three I think." House answered, squinting while he tried to remember the answer.

Wilson licked his lips, nodded his head then authoritatively walked around to House's side of the couch, swiftly taking the glass out of the man's hand before he headed for the kitchen and placed the glass in the sink. "You've had enough." He announces as he goes to grab the bottle.

With speed and agility not often attributed to the crippled man, House grabbed the bottle before Wilson can get near it. He held the bottle loosely in his fingers by his side, leaning against the doorway separating the kitchen from the living room. "I'll decide when I've had enough." He growled putting extra emphasis on the words 'I'll' and 'I've'.

"House, you've had enough." Wilson recites hoping to one day break through the alcohol induced stupor and get through. He turns around and begins to wash the glass out. Just as he's about to put the glass into the hot water, strong hands jerk him around and the glass slips out of his hands, bouncing hard off his socked foot then landing on the floor.

Wilson yelps and attempts to pick up the glass but House's strong hands are still pinning him against the sink with bruising force.

"What's wrong Jimmy?" House purred while the smell of Scotch polluted Wilson's lungs. "Don't you like the new me?" He gripped Wilson's arms harder and pulled him in for a lip splitting kiss.

"Get off me!" Wilson exclaimed, struggling strongly enough to loosen House's grip and slip out.

"Why should I?" House yelled, the question following Wilson as the oncologist went and cleaned up the living room. "You're mine." He claimed menacingly when Wilson came back.

Wilson slammed the cabinet door as he finished putting away the chips that House had left on the couch. "Damn it House!" He yelled. "How can you not see how this," he gestured madly towards the bottle in House's hand, "is changing you?"

House straightened defiantly, "It takes away my pain."

"You used to say that about Vicodin, does that not work anymore?" Wilson challenged.

"Nope." House answered before taking another swig from the bottle.

Wilson decided to take advantage of House's distraction and charged, grabbing the bottle out of House's grip mid drink. Scotch flowed from the older man's lips and dribbled on to the floor. He turned to poor the bottle into the sink but didn't get to make the first step before he felt a cane wrap around his left knee, twisting his ankle and catching him off balance.

With a startled cry, Wilson fell to the ground hard on his left side. The bottle slipped out of his hands, caught the edge of the pool table that served as a kitchen island then broke, showering him with shards of glass. One caught his right cheek, slicing through it easily and leaving a stinging line of blood in its wake. One landed in his back, planting itself deeply into his right shoulder blade; _that wouldn't be fun to get out!_ And another caught his right forearm; slicing deeply across the top, leaving a diagonal trail of red.

"What the hell did you do that for?" House raged like Wilson had tripped and broken the bottle on purpose. He held his cane in his trembling right hand, debating whether or not to beat Wilson with it in return or just use his hands. He eyed the shards of glass and got an idea. "You know," he began like he was explaining a sudden idea to someone, "I think you've gotten too comfortable here."

Wilson felt fear grip his heart at House's words but ignored them and the sound of him moving in favor of sitting up. He was stalled by a well placed cane tip on his right shoulder. Pain burst through his arm and into his back, burning him with the intensity.

"Nah-uh, you need to stay on the floor for this to work." House warned as he awkwardly knelt on the ground, easing his friend on his stomach on the floor. Once Wilson was laying flat on his stomach, House straddled him to make sure he couldn't move. "As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, I think you've grown too comfortable here and have forgotten your place." He continued as he untucked Wilson's shirts and pulled them up to reveal his pristine back. "I think you need to be reminded who you belong to, just in case you feel like straying."

"House, please," Wilson pleaded fearfully guessing what was coming next. He heard the _chink_ of glass and his blood froze. _No way, House would do this! It's not House, it's not House. It's his evil twin Dr. Hyde!_

House grabbed the sharpest piece he could find and began to inscribe his message to all who dared touch HIS Jimmy with the practiced ease of a doctor using a scalpel. Blood flowed freely from the cuts; he made sure they were deep enough to scar but not deep enough to do serious damage.

He released Wilson, sitting on the kitchen floor beside him and admiring his handy work. House stared transfixed by it before he frowned. "You know, silly me." He said causing Wilson's heart to leap into his throat. "How many people will really see your back? Sure men would but what if you're not with a man? I should probably do the same to your chest to make sure they get the message too." He flipped the other man over, ignoring the cry of pain that escaped his lips and the tears that flowed from his eyes, and tore open the shirts; cutting the tee down the front with the bloodied glass.

In the back of his mind, House realized that none of this was right. That he would NEVER do this to his friend and lover if he hadn't been so drunk he has effectively blacked out but the part that was so stinking drunk he could barely see straight didn't care.

Wilson lay on the floor, flat on his back. Tears were flowing freely from his eyes while spilled alcohol burned his damaged flesh. He hated himself for what he was about to do but he didn't see any way around it and only hoped his friend would forgive him for it or not remember it.

He waited until House swung his left leg over Wilson's stomach, balancing solely on his right, then he punched the damaged thigh as hard as his injured arm could manage.

House yelled his pain and rage before he collapsed onto the floor beside Wilson who scrambled out of his hold, heading as fast as he could for his keys and the door.

Just as his hand touched the door knob, angry hands grabbed his shoulders and hauled him across the room. He landed hard on the wood floor, his hip cracking against the arm of the couch before he fell. House stood above him, face red and contorted in fury and pain. "Bad move Jimmy." He said before he fell hard on Wilson, furiously punching Wilson's side and stomach.

Wilson wasn't sure how long he lay there in agony and tears. He closed his eyes and tried not to look into his friend's face. He knew this wasn't his House doing this and he didn't want to burn the image of his friend's face beating the shit out of him into his mind.

The blows changed places as they slowed, aiming for the most painful spots which included Wilson's left hip and right shoulder. Finally they stopped and House got painfully up off the floor before he went to the bedroom and slammed the door shut, leaving Wilson laying there bleeding, frightened and in agony.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Thanks for all the reviews. I apologize for the strong content of the last chapter. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you to those who are sticking with this story!

* * *

**

**Chapter 8:**

House awoke to the mother of all headaches. Groaning in pain, he rolled over to his side and reached for his Vicodin. He grabbed it off the bedside table then dry swallowed three in hopes to kill the agony coursing through his head and thigh.

Once the pain died a little he turned to his other side in search for Wilson but the other man wasn't there. That was strange since today was Saturday, if House remembered correctly. Maybe Wilson was making breakfast; the thought made House smile with anticipation despite his pain.

He waited another moment longer for the pills to settle then he pulled the covers back and sat up. Slow, he places his bare feet on the floor. It was then that he noticed that he was wearing his clothes from yesterday. This made him frown as he snagged his cane from the floor and limped to the door. It was locked.

Déjà vu struck him like a rock. Waking up with a headache and an empty bed, then finding himself fully dressed and the door locked…this had happened a few times before. He'd beat Wilson last night.

Onus set in, making his gut and heart twist all at once. Once again he had broken his promise. He just hoped that this time the damage wasn't too severe. Normally, Wilson would be bruised and hurting but fine; making him able to hide his and House's secret from those at work.

He unlocked and opened the door not sure what he was expecting to find. Walking out into the sunlit hallway, he felt guilt ridden dread form butterflies in his stomach. He quickly checked the bathroom for any signs that Wilson had used it to clean new wounds but found none. Maybe the beating wasn't too bad then or maybe he didn't touch the younger doctor at all.

Inwardly crossing his fingers, he limped down the short hall. Listening closely for any sounds of movement, he almost missed the lifeless form lying on the floor in between the couch and the piano. Picking up his pace, his heart stopped when he saw the blood.

He dropped to his knees, ignoring the spike of pain this motion brought from his right thigh, and bent over his lover. His hand flew to Wilson's neck to check for a pulse. Gasping in relief when he found one, slow but steady, he called the younger man's name.

Eyelids fluttered giving him a glimpse of beautiful brown orbs. "That's it Wilson. Come one, it's time to get up. I can't have you bleeding all over my floor." House tried to sound nonchalant but failed miserably. He needed to get Wilson sitting so he could inspect the man's back which is where the blood seemed to be coming from.

Wilson opened his eyes to see ocean blue irises staring at him. The image of those same eyes filled with pain, rage and insanity filled his vision. Panic caught hold of him with its' frosty grip causing fear and desperation to take control. A cry of fright escaped his lips and he shoved House away from him. With adrenaline dulling the pain radiating from every part of his body, Wilson tried to scramble to his feet only to find that he was too weak to stand. Tears of terror streamed down his cheeks as he crawled towards the front door. Strong arms curled themselves around his waist, preventing him from making it to the door.

Wilson was completely unaware of House calling his name as he struggled to free himself from the older man's hold. His arms flailing and striking where they could find, Wilson managed to elbow House hard in the side and the slam the same elbow into House's jaw and cheek.

House had never seen such raw, unrestrained fear in his lover's eyes and the revelation that he had caused it broke his already battered heart. He held onto Wilson tightly as the other doctor fought his embrace, ignoring the blows landing on his torso and face. "Shh, Wilson," he tried to soothe, "it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe, Wilson. I'm not going to hurt you."

Eventually, the adrenaline faded and Wilson calmed. But once his energy dissipated, the pain returned with a vengeance that he'd never felt before. His back, stomach, side, hip and shoulder screeched with agony's white fire knocking him breathless. Sobbing from the torture his body was undergoing he was barely conscious of House's presence.

Unable to see his friend and lover in so much pain, House laid Wilson carefully down on the floor and began to quickly examine his friend for injury. He already knew there was a deep cut on his back and shoulder from the blood alone but he seemed to be weaker on the left side and began there. He gently lifted up the younger man's shirt, revealing disgustingly dark bruises on his side and stomach. Noticing a particularly nasty bruise snaking down Wilson's side and covering his hip, House gently pulled down the waistband of Wilson's pants to reveal a deformed hip with horrid bruising and swelling covering it. He didn't need to see anymore to know there was nothing he could do for the oncologist and that killed him to know.

House realized he had no choice but to call an ambulance even if that meant people finding out. Heaving himself up off the floor, he hobbled over to the landline and called 911. After giving them his address and explaining Wilson's possible injuries, he hung up and tossed the phone on the couch.

Limping back to his friend, he awkwardly sat next to the broken man. Gently gathering up his head and placing it on his thigh, House whispered, "It's okay Jimmy. Help's coming. You're going to be alright," while he ran his fingers comfortingly through the oncologist's hair.

Not too long after that, Wilson thankfully passed out from pain. Swiping the tears from the younger face's cheeks and his own, House reflected on the past six months he had spent with Wilson.

Despite all the bad moments such as this (and there had been many), he had been happy. Not the momentary happiness but the kind that lasts; true joy. All the pranks he'd pulled on Wilson and the lectures he got because of them flashed in random order before his eyes. One moment in particular almost brought a smile to his lips…

_Two months ago_

"_Wilson, I'm home!" House shouted as he threw all of his things in various places around the front door. The smell of something delicious kissed his nostrils and made his mouth water in anticipation. He eagerly made his way to the kitchen where a welcome scene unfolded before his eyes._

_He had always found the sight of Wilson cooking alluringly sexy and accompanied with such an arousing aroma, it was almost too much to resist. Walking up behind his boyfriend, he was preparing to wrap his arms around Wilson's waist when the other man purposely moved out of reach. _

"_Oh, come on. Don't tell me you're still mad, are you?" he whined to his friend's back. _

_Wilson didn't answer, in fact, he didn't even acknowledge his presence._

_Sighing in frustration, House continued to complain, "You're acting like a teenage girl whose boyfriend forgot her birthday. It was just a whoopee-cushion. I'm sure your patient didn't even hear it he was so old." _

_The Cold Shoulder was his only reply. _

"_You have to admit that it was a good prank. You should have seen your face," he smirked. The image of Wilson's beet red face twisted in a look of horror and embarrassment as he sputtered an explanation came to view. It had been priceless. _

"_It was immature and childish with no amount of humor at all," Wilson finally fumed, "Do you realize what that did to my credibility for the patient? I won't be surprised if he never takes me seriously again." _

"_Oh come one, Wilson. Don't you think you're overreacting just a little? Everybody farts. It's a fact of life. Just because yours wasn't brought on naturally doesn't negate the fact." _

"_Dinner's ready," was all Wilson said in reply. He dished out some lasagna onto a plate and handed it to House. _

_Giving up on making-up with his friend until after dinner, House limped into the living room; meal in hand. _

_When he settled on the couch, careful to make room for Wilson, he dug into his plate of delight. At Least, he thought it would be a plate of delight. _

_The moment he had forked a mouth full onto his tongue it lit on fire from the taste of Tabasco Sauce. Tears filled in his eyes as he choked on the flaming hot food. A glass of water appeared in front of him and he took it. Quickly swallowing the lasagna, he gratefully drank the water to quench the fire on his tongue. _

_When he finished, he looked up to a smug looking Wilson. "You-you," he croaked. _

"_Now, we're even." Wilson took his plate of food and empty glass then went back into the kitchen. _

_House sat there for a few seconds in shock before a smirk spread across his tear-streaked face…_

A knock on the door pulled House from his thoughts. The sounds of the EMTs calling to them were muffled from behind the door.

"It's open!" He yelled relieved that his friend would be getting some relief and care soon.

The next few minutes were a blur with the emergency response team coming in and examining Wilson. They kept throwing House nervous yet disgusted glances as they examined his friend, particularly when they saw his back which made House's stomach squeeze tightly and his heart drop. What had they seen that he didn't?

They strapped Wilson to a gurney and wheeled the injured man out. Before he knew it, House was in an ambulance on his way to PPTH.

* * *

Dr. Lisa Cuddy stood by the ambulance bay doors concern and fear gripping her heart, forcing her to keep a calm façade. Dr. Robert Chase stood beside her, having been on the ER Rotation for the weekend, confusion and concern etched on his beautifully handsome features.

Both had been alerted to the ambulance coming in carrying Wilson and House and were not sure what the circumstances were though Cuddy thought she had an idea.

Ever since that first day they walked into the hospital with Wilson beaten to a pulp, she had kept a close, careful eye on them. She was concerned that, though Wilson wrote off the beating and House didn't seem too worried about it happening again, there would be a repeat.

She'd noticed that at least once a month, Wilson would come in walking stiffer than usual; wincing when he twisted or moved too suddenly but she kept her mouth shut, waiting for the oncologist to come to her. He never did and the more it happened, the more concerned she grew. She'd tried to talk to her friend about it but was dismissed with practiced ease and avoided from then on so she had apologized to him, stating that she was merely concerned for him. He'd accepted her apology and expressed that while he was grateful for her concern, he and House were fine.

The fact that every time Wilson had come in walking painfully, House came in looking desperately hung over and grumpier than usual did not escape her notice. Those were the days she could smell the alcohol rolling off him and smacking into her with the force of a steam roller. Those were the days that she had brought him an extremely strong cup of coffee and instructed him to stay in his office until he "felt better".

She'd begun to recognize the signs of alcohol abuse from the diagnostician but didn't think much of it since Wilson wasn't pitching a fit about it. Until today that is….

The ambulance pulled up to the doors, its' eardrum-breaking siren shutting off shortly before it parked, and the back doors flew open revealing a disheveled, broken, and (not surprisingly) hung over House with an unconscious Wilson hooked up to IVs.

The paramedics wheeled Wilson out, completely ignoring House, and flew into the ER with Chase accompanying them getting the necessary medical information.

Cuddy stepped up to the ambulance, having not missed the disgusted way the EMTs had treated the older man, and helped her friend down. He swayed slightly from the change in position as his blood pressure dropped before quickly rising back again.

She was surprised that House wasn't throwing a fit about being left in the ambulance or about the way he (as a cripple) had been treated. Instead, the scruffy doctor just heavily limped off toward the area they had taken Wilson.

"House, what happened?" She called after him, easily keeping up with his pace.

House ignored her; desperate to get to Wilson and make sure that the doctors were competent with their treatment of his friend. When he got there, he was surprised to find two security guards blocking his path and refusing to let him in. What the hell? "Let me in," he growled at them.

"I'm sorry sir but the doctor has asked that you not be allowed in." The bigger of the two answered, his deep bass voice rumbled with every syllable.

"Oh, come on!" House yelled, "I'm his medical proxy and a doctor-"

"House!" Cuddy called, grabbing his attention. "What the hell happened?" she demanded.

"Conan here won't let me in!" He yelled back annoyed that though it was so obvious, she didn't seem to get it.

"Well I'm sure they have a good reason, now what happened to Wilson?" She retorted, lowering her voice.

"I don't know!" House yelled surprised by the desperation and panic in his voice.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Cuddy asked angrily.

House clamped his mouth shut, stopping himself from yelling at the top of his lungs the truth that's been haunting him for six months. If he told her now that he'd been abusing Wilson, she'd never let him near the younger man.

He was about to say something but an angry and grim-faced Chase chose that moment to come out of the curtained off area just as nurses and orderlies were wheeling Wilson away.

House started to follow but was restrained by a strong hand on his arm. He followed the hand up to the face of his employee, surprised and impressed to see fury flaming in those sky blue eyes, lighting them to ice blue.

"I need you to stay here." The Australian told him coldly yet firmly.

Knowing that Chase was usually the one to kiss up to House and hardly ever get angry with him, Cuddy found her curiosity grow and fear coil her stomach in knots – this was bad. "How's Wilson?" She asked hoping to derail any snide comment the diagnostician had. From the look on Chase's face and the rigidity of his posture, it looked like the blond Intensivist was ready to deck his boss; that any snide, rude or inconsiderate comment might end with Chase being fired (or at the very least reassigned assuming House deserved it) and House looking like he got into a bar fight.

"He'll live." Chase answered flatly. "He's pretty beaten up and we don't know the full extent of his injuries." He summed before he focused back on his boss. "What the hell happened to him? Or better yet, what the hell did you do to him?" He growled.

House's posture went from desperate to angry, becoming just as rigid as Chase. "Watch it Wombat," he warned lowly, "I am still your boss."

"Right now, I could care less." Chase snapped back, "What I do care about is why Wilson seems to have multiple bruising, some older some new, some deep scratches and an inscription carved into his lower back."

Cuddy's mouth dropped open in shock, matching House's mixed look of horror and shock. "What do you mean inscription?"

"I mean that it looks like someone," he threw an angry glare at his boss, "took a VERY sharp, jagged piece of glass and carved _Hands off. Property of G. H. Trespassers Be Warned _into Wilson's back."

Cuddy gasped at the declaration and if Chase hadn't been holding firmly onto his arm, House would have collapsed onto the floor. As it was he did completely fall against Chase, his legs no longer willing to hold him up.

Chase sat him, none too gently, into the nearest chair. It was then the Intensivist noticed the bruising along the left side of House's face that strengthened the deep sorrow, despair and remorse reflecting in the cerulean blue eyes. Something flickered across House's features that Chase saw often, though it was usually when he was working on a case; confusion and puzzling.

He saw the confusion that clouded his boss' eyes and then way his brain started to turn, puzzling together the night's events.

House's eyes widened in horror, and his breathing became erratic, when he remembered exactly what HAD happened the night before. Images of Wilson lying helpless on the floor, bleeding while he carved his name into the younger man's back. The sounds of Wilson's cries of pain, whimpers of fear and agony, plus shuddering breaths of tears echoing through his mind like a bad record playing over and over.

"Oh god!" He wheezed, unable to finish the sentence before the emotion, realization and hang over all crumbled down on top of him, suffocating him. The last thing he remembered was the horrified look on Chase's face and the equally horrified though mixed with concern look on Cuddy's face before darkness consumed him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

Chase had just enough time to catch House before his head hit the floor. He gently lowered his boss onto the floor with a questioning look at Cuddy, "What the hell?"

"I don't know but we shouldn't leave him on the floor. Do you know what room Wilson will be in?" She answered, kneeling down to check on her friend.

"Yes and I'm NOT putting them in the same room." Chase answered emphatically.

"Do you really think you're going to keep him away from Wilson?" She challenged.

"If I have to post security outside his door 24/7, yes." He answered, folding his arms across his chest. "I am not letting him near Wilson until I've had a chance to speak with him."

"Is it that bad?" She asked standing up, satisfied that House seemed to have merely passed out.

"Is the engraving not enough?" He challenged more than a little annoyed that she seemed to be defending House.

"No." She answered albeit hesitantly.

"Pardon?" He asked.

"We don't know what happened and we're assuming that keeping House away from Wilson is for Wilson's own good but what if it isn't? What if Wilson WANTS House with him?" She replied.

Chase stood staring at his boss' boss, floored. He hadn't thought of that and while his first instinct was to keep House away from Wilson no matter what, he realized that if Wilson wanted House around Chase couldn't stop him. "Then I will comply with my patient's wishes but right now, my patient is not awake and able to make decisions for himself."

"Fine," Cuddy answered motioning for an orderly to bring over a gurney, "help me get him onto the gurney and to his office." She commanded.

Chase complied trying hard not to recoil in disgust. He didn't know what was going on here but he was certain that he couldn't ever look at House the same way again.

* * *

Wilson awoke groggy, confused and in pain. He heard a monitor pick up speed and muffled voices of people close by.

"Wilson?" A familiar Australian voice called through the din. Wilson turned his head towards the voice, a groan escaping his lips. "Wilson can you open your eyes for me?"

Wilson's eyelids fluttered open, squinting at the sudden assault of blinding light on his retinas. "Chase?" He croaked.

"Yeah, how are you feeling?" The blond Intensivist asked.

"Umph." Wilson answered, "What happened?" He asked, "Where's House?"

"We were hoping you could tell us." Chase prompted, shining his penlight into Wilson's eyes and earning a groan in protest.

Wilson felt his heart race fearfully, "You mean you don't know where House is? Isn't he here?"

"Wilson calm down, House is in his office." The tone in Chase's voice made Wilson doubt that House was there of his own free will.

"Is he okay?" Wilson's croaking voice asked. He eyed the water pitcher longingly.

"He's fine." Chase placated handing him a cup of room temperature water. "Can you tell us what happened?"

"Uh," Wilson answered, mentally shaking his head to clear the fog, "Scotch bottle broke. I must have fell."

Chase studied Wilson a moment; he knew the oncologist was lying but he didn't want to upset his patient right now by pointing it out. He threw a look at Cuddy, who nodded solemnly. They were afraid of this. They had decided that if Wilson wasn't willing to tell them the truth, they'd call the police; they really didn't want to but thought it was in their friend's best interest.

"What?" Wilson asked awake enough to catch the silent agreement between the two. His left hand drifted down to the bed controls and raised the head of his bed so he could see both of them better. Pain shot through his hip, back and thigh causing him to gasp and stop his ministrations.

"Wilson, try to lie still." Chase scolded though it sounded more like a friendly suggestion. "I'm not sure that hip will be ready for too much movement today."

"But it will tomorrow?" Wilson countered.

Chase smirked, "No, probably not but that doesn't mean that we won't be getting you out of bed anyways. You had surgery to stabilize your hip." He explained succinctly knowing that since Wilson was an MD as well, he'd know what that meant.

"Wilson," Cuddy interjected softly but administratively, "when you're up to it, we think you should talk to the police."

"No." Wilson replied firmly. If he could have he would have folded his arms across his chest or placed his hands on his hips. Since he was sitting down the hips were out of the picture and the sling cradling his right arm prevented him from crossing them so he settled for a determined glare. "There's nothing to tell."

"Like hell there isn't!" Chase argued a bit more loudly than he meant to.

Chase's voice reverberated through Wilson's skull, hiking the dull throbbing in his head to a sharp stabbing. He winced in pain and raised his free hand to his head, wrapping it around his eyes and gently rubbing his temples.

"Sorry," Chase apologized, guilt gripping his heart at causing his patient more pain (_the man was in enough!_). "Look, Wilson I know you want to protect House but you can't. Not this time." He added in a quieter tone.

Wilson lowered his hand, his normally soft brown eyes hard, cold and filled with pain, "IF there is something going on between House and I, WE will deal with internally." He dismissed professionally, his tone suggesting 'Stay out of it!'

Chase squared his jaw, ready to argue but Cuddy interjected, "I'm afraid that may not be a possibility." She said, bringing both men's attention to her. "You know that we, as a hospital, have the ethical responsibility to report suspected abuse and quite frankly the damage done speaks for itself."

Knowing he was cornered, Wilson turned from authoritative to pleading, "Cuddy, please, it wasn't his fault."

Chase made a disgusted noise and walked out, afraid that if he didn't he'd end up hitting the man in the bed if only to knock some sense into him.

"Look, I know that's cliché," Wilson continued after he gave Chase's departure a confused look, "but it isn't that bad normally."

"Wilson," Cuddy began pulling up a chair next to his bed, "he needs help. You and I both know that his drinking is a problem and this isn't the first time he's beaten you."

"That was from the pain!" Wilson objected.

"That's not what I'm referring to." She answered softly. "I've seen every time you've come in to work, bruised worse than your work clothes would show and the way House reeks of alcohol EVERY time. I know that he usually mixes his Vicodin and booze and most of the time it's not a problem, but lately it's become one hasn't it?"

Wilson stared at her, shocked that she knew. "He's fine." He defended weakly.

"You and I both know that's a lie." She countered. "Wilson, please tell me, what started it this time?"

Wilson shut his eyes against the pleading and concerned tone Cuddy instilled in her voice, hoping that the barrier between his retinas and her concern, tear-filled eyes would shield him against its' effect on him. Realizing the futility of the action, he opened his eyes and stared pleadingly into hers, "I took away the alcohol."

"You-"

"I took away his cup first, then the Scotch bottle." He clarified resignedly.

"He did this," she swept a hand over his bruised, battered and broken body, "because you tried to stop him from drinking more?" She asked astonished that House's alcohol abuse had risen to such a high and dangerous level.

Wilson could no longer meet her shocked stare and turned his attention onto his hospital-supplied blanket, the fingers of his left hand fiddling with it distractingly. When she said it like that, Wilson did find House's reaction to be a bit overdone but he had known that House had had enough alcohol to completely black out and not know what he was doing.

However, that didn't negate the fact that his alcoholism (because, yes that's what it was) was out of control. House really did need help but Wilson honestly wasn't sure the diagnostician would admit it or try to get it. He didn't want to have to get the police involved but he knew that if House refused to go to rehab, he'd have no choice. Fear gripped his heart, squeezing painfully, at the thought of House no longer being in his life because he's stuck in prison – a place that isn't good for cripple people to be. GOD he did not want to do that.

"I want to see House." He stated firmly, sounding more like a child wanting to see their parent then a man wanting to see his lover.

Cuddy bit her lip, trying to decide what to tell her friend. "I'll get him." She settled on, resigning herself on having to browbeat the scruffy doctor into visiting.

"Thanks, and Cuddy," Wilson said, stopping her just short of the door, "nothing I said gets repeated beyond those doors."

She nodded sadly then exited, making her way to Diagnostics.

* * *

House sat miserably in the yellow recliner in his office. His head and stomach had decided to join forces with his thigh and slowly torture him with pain. He'd already vomited all the alcohol left in his system, so he was trying to rehydrate and relax.

He wanted nothing more than to storm into Wilson's room and cuddle the man close, whispering every single apology he could think of and every promise he could make but reality broke in reminding him that his friend and lover may not WANT him in the room. His heart sank at the thought but he couldn't deny the possibility of it happening and he wasn't about to ignore Wilson's wishes right now or anytime soon.

The images of Wilson laying on the floor and the sounds the glass cutting into his friend's flesh made still rang through his head, blinding him and driving him made with their insistence. House knew he wasn't likely to forget to the horror he put his friend through or the pain it had caused him to know that Wilson may not want House in his life any longer.

While it was Wilson's right and made total sense, House didn't know how he'd react to that news. He knew that he would NEVER raise a hand to his friend but he didn't know if he'd just drink himself into a stupor and "accidentally" take too many pills or struggle through his day-to-day. He wanted to believe he was stronger than allowing himself succumb to depression just because "his boyfriend left him" but House knew that Wilson was not just his boyfriend.

Wilson was his world; his happiness, his painkiller, his friend, his lover, his partner. Wilson was what made getting out of bed in the morning bearable and he had mutilated, tortured and destroyed that man last night.

His door swished open, revealing an unhappy Cuddy looking down upon him. House felt his heart drop into his stomach but kept his stone-faced façade.

"He wants to see you." She said flatly. He could tell that she was NOT happy about it but she wasn't about to deny Wilson, her Wonder Boy Head of Oncology anything right now.

House felt hope fill his chest, squeezing his lungs and cutting of his air. Not trusting himself to speak at the moment he settled for a curt nod and stiffly got up off the chair, wincing when he twisted slightly.

While holding Wilson this morning, the oncologist had managed to get in a few good jabs; two of which landed hard in his side, bruising his ribs. House wasn't about to mention it to anyone though knowing he'd done FAR worse to his friend. He knew he deserved the pain and relished in it when it flared.

They walked silently to the elevators, Cuddy focusing on not physically throwing her Head of Diagnostics against a wall and punching him in his thigh. There were several things she could and did put up with from House but beating his best friend, partner, lover and HER friend was NOT one of them.

When the doors whirred closed and the elevator began moving she turned to the older man, "Wilson told me why it happened though not what." She said, catching his look of shock before it quickly disappeared. "Care to fill in the details?"

"Nope." He answered simply, staring at his reflection in the shining elevator doors.

"Well, I think you're going to have to before Chase lets you into Wilson's room." She warned remembering Chase's reaction to the entire thing and being told that Wilson wanted to see House.

"I'll deal with the wombat." House answered as the doors dinged then whirred open, allowing him to walk off and head straight for Wilson's room where Chase and two security guards were waiting. "Move." House commanded.

"You're not getting in there until I know what is going on." Chase replied condescendingly.

"Isn't that funny because, I'm not going to tell you." House quipped.

"Then, I'm sorry but I can't let you in there." The younger doctor retorted easily.

House stepped up to his insubordinate allowing his full height to take affect, frowning slightly when Chase didn't back down like he normally did. "Since when did you become a knight and shining armor for abused oncologists?"

"Since that oncologist is currently my patient and my friend." Chase replied steely.

"Really? I don't remember you two hanging out after work, grabbing a beer and chitting the chat."

Wilson's heart monitor picked up speed, something that both doctors noticed with concern. Chase turned on his heel and walked into the room. House went to follow but was stopped by both guards.

"Chase," Wilson said the minute the Intensivist walked in, "what's going on? Why won't you let him in here?"

"Wilson,-"

"Chase," the man in the bed said, cutting of Chase's answer, "I appreciate what you're trying to do, really I do. But it's nothing for you to concern yourself with, I'm fine."

"No, you are most definitely NOT fine." Chase argued. "I've compared your X-rays and MRIs from before you got together with House and after. I know he's been abusing you just as much, if not more, than Julie ever did."

"I know that you care, I'm glad you care, but please let House and I deal with this. Cuddy knows what's going on and she's agreed to let me handle things." Wilson told him.

Chase stared blankly at his patient. Wilson's hidden meaning of _If your boss's boss is fine with this, then you should be too_ didn't go unnoticed but he still couldn't find it in himself to let go. He opened his mouth to argue but Wilson gently grabbed his hand, earning a growl from House outside the room.

"Please, trust me." Wilson implored, invoking his puppy-dog oncologist eyes.

"Fine," Chase conceded, "but let me know if you need ANYTHING."

He walked out of the room, throwing House a furious glare. "Go on in."

"Don't feel bad little wombat, those puppy-dog eyes work on everybody." House consoled rather cheerfully before he strode into the room.

Chase stood outside the doors, hanging back at the nurse's station that conveniently resided JUST outside Wilson's room, watching House and Wilson like a hawk. He noted with relief how House's posture changed from a strut to uncertainty before he turned his attention to his other patients' files.

House walked into Wilson's room, strutting at first to exude confidence that he didn't actually feel. When he saw his friend lying in the hospital bed bandaged, bruised and obviously in pain, he felt his mirage fade off him, revealing the cactus of awkwardness and insecurity ready to prick anyone who got close. "'Bout time you got him to let me in." He quipped hoping to hide his true feelings.

Wilson gave a tired smile, seeing right through House's rouse with the practiced ease of fifteen plus years of friendship, "Can you really blame him?" He asked lightly.

"No." House answered seriously, looking down at the floor. He couldn't keep his eyes on his suffering friend for long periods at time; it was torture seeing him like this and knowing that HE had caused it. He forced himself to look up, making sure NOT to look away; if there was anyone who deserved to be tortured right now, it was him.

Wilson held out a hand, waving at him, "Come here," he beckoned softly.

House wanted to object, though his heart yearned for him to be connected with his friend again, but his legs obeyed willingly. He pulled up a hard, uncomfortable hospital chair and stiffly sat down wincing slightly when it pulled on his side.

"What's wrong?" Wilson asked noticing the wince.

"Nothing, I'm fine." House lied.

"Yeah, and I suppose that bruise on your face just happened to appear magically." Wilson scoffed, his hand reaching out to inspect House's face.

House caught the hand before it reached his cheek and held it softly in his, inwardly wincing when he felt Wilson automatically try to pull away before he settled. "I'm fine." He reiterated.

"Did Chase punch you?" Wilson asked growing angry at the idea.

"No. Will you focus on yourself for once in your life?" House quipped annoyed.

"Ok," Wilson answered knowing he wasn't going to get an answer out of his friend, "then we need to talk."

House gasped at his words, unable to stop himself since it felt like his heart had stopped beating and his lungs had refused to work. "Ok." He answered forcing a calm he did not feel.

Wilson chewed thoughtfully on his lip, "I love you." He said taking the older man by surprise. He'd never said those words to House before but he really needed his friend to hear them now. "I truly do love you, but I can't do this anymore." He admitted with defeat. "I can't keep coming home, fearful of what will greet me."

House nodded his understanding, face stoney and expressionless. "Ok," he said, his voice cracking with emotion he wouldn't express, "I'll move my things into the living room until you can find a new place."

"What?" Wilson asked confused, "Why? House, I'm not leaving you."

"You just said-"

"I wasn't referring to you and me, you idiot." Wilson retorted. "I was referring to your drinking." House stared at him dumbfounded so he continued. "I know that none of this," he waved his good arm magnanimously around the hospital room and his battered body, "wouldn't be happening if you weren't poising yourself nightly, replacing your addiction to Vicodin with one equally just as dangerous."

"You're being a little overdramatic, aren't you?" House scoffed, "I'm not poisoning myself."

"Overdramatic?" Wilson challenged, trying to sit up and grimacing when pain speared throughout his body. "How overdramatic am I being when I say that I come home EVERY night to find you already on your third very full drink? Or that you're going through a bottle of Scotch in three days? Or," he hesitated slightly before bringing this up but he knew it would help make his point, "that the times I'm coming to work in so much pain that I can barely move has gone from maybe once a month to almost twice a week?"

House felt like he had been sucker-punched, and in truth he had but he knew it was true. His eyes snapped up to meet Wilson's pleading, pain filled and desperate brown ones burrowing into him. He could see that his friend was the end of his rope and he needed something to change but House couldn't understand why it had to be this.

So he had an occasional drink sometimes, it didn't mean he was the alcoholic that Wilson was making him out to be. Or did it?

He sat, slouching in the chair, thinking over the passed four months. He could remember with perfect clarity how many times he'd gotten so drunk he couldn't remember what had happened the night before. He could remember how many times he found Wilson sleeping on the couch bruised or walking around the kitchen favoring his side or arm or both. He could remember coming to work more times than not drunk or hung over. Most importantly he could remember the irrational rage he felt at Wilson for not allowing him to have another drink last night and how good it had felt to take that rage out on his friend.

The last memory churned his stomach and brought bile into this throat. For the third time today, he thought he would be sick and not from the hang over he was still nursing. House realized he was sick, in more ways than one, and had an addiction but unlike his Vicodin addiction which allowed him to operate and do his job competently, this addiction served no purpose and was harder to admit.

He looked into the brown orbs that were still focused on him, studying him, and searched them for an answer to his problem. Some sort of solution that he could come up with that wouldn't involve admitting he was weak and needed help. He found none.

What he did find was strength behind the chocolate pools, hidden underneath the pain and disparity. "You're right," House admitted wincing at the pain from bruising his ego, "I-," he hesitated, chewing on his lip, "I need help."

* * *

**There you go folks, another chapter! I hope that you're still liking the story**.** I believe we'll be wrapping this up here pretty soon but don't worry, there's another part coming. :winks: Click that little review button and let us know what you think! **

**Thanks to All things for the constant support, ideas and beta-ing!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

Wilson stared skeptically at House. His friend had just uttered the words that he desperately wanted to hear but he wasn't really sure if this was for real or just something House was saying and wouldn't really take seriously. Suddenly feeling the need to move, he shifted painfully and uncomfortably in his bed. He gasped as pain burned through his left leg, side and shoulder. Clenching his teeth and squeezing his eyes, he waited for the pain to dull to the persistent throbbing it had previously been.

He felt a coolness that could only be pain medication spread through his veins, quenching the burning and bringing the temperature of his blood from boiling down to simmering. House's hand enveloped his, squeezing it gently and trembling. He opened his eyes to find House staring at him intently, concern and anguish flowing freely from his ocean eyes like tears. "Thanks." He said when he thought he could talk without whimpering.

House nodded, but the anger he felt radiated off him in waves, nearly knocking the oncologist over with its' force. Wilson wasn't sure who his friend's anger was aimed at and couldn't help but shrink away from the man.

House gave his friend's hand another gentle squeeze and a smile to let him know he wasn't angry with the younger man. Seeing Wilson in that much pain, tore his heart apart and threatened to take his breath away; knowing HE was the one who had caused it made his stomach churn acidly and threaten to rebel again.

He was furious with himself for doing this to his partner, friend and lover. Shame and disgust was there as well but they weren't nearly as strong or as simple as rage. He quickly tried to calm the emotions running through him when he noticed Wilson shy away from him, fear etched into his beautiful brown eyes.

They both sat quietly, studying each other, unsure what to say next. House had just admitted that he had a problem and didn't know where to go from there while Wilson wasn't sure if he fully trusted House and was afraid to speak should he actually say that.

House sensed his friends mistrust and searched for the words to soothe it, wondering if ANYTHING he said would work at all.

In the end it was Wilson who broke the silence. "I'll look into some rehab centers as soon as I can." He offered uncomfortably yet supportably. "I think it would be best to get you there as soon as possible."

House's eyes widened minutely at the last sentence, "You seriously expect me to leave you?" He asked incredulously.

"Yes." Wilson answered simply. "House, I'm not sure if Cuddy or Chase will let you leave this hospital and NOT try to put you in jail if you don't."

"So it's either rehab or jail?" The diagnostician challenged.

"Yes." His friend answered sadly. "I don't like the options but I'm not sure we really have a choice. They are FURIOUS with you and the only reason they haven't called the cops is because I asked to let me talk to you first."

House sat listening to his friend in annoyed silence. _What right did Cuddy and Chase have to be furious with him? What right did Wilson have to offer him a choice with two evils?_ , he raged in his head. The emotion ebbed when he re-focused his eyes on the man in the bed and bowed his head in defeat. They had every right to and he knew it.

"I'm still not leaving you while you recover." He insisted stubbornly; his head held high in defiance.

"House, that's not up to you." Wilson told him firmly, though his eyes were starting to droop slightly from exhaustion. "I want you there but honestly, I don't want to give you time to change your mind. I think it's best for you to start getting help as soon as you can."

House felt his heart drop into his stomach and he couldn't help the pained gasp that escaped his lips. He hadn't known just how much Wilson's distrust could hurt until now but he knew Wilson had a point. If he hung around and watched his friend get better, he would talk himself out of getting the help that he desperately needed and would more than likely end up hurting his friend again. He did NOT want that so he feebly shook his head in understanding and averted his gaze to his sneakered feet, not wanting to show Wilson the tears that had begun to fill his eyes.

When he had composed himself, House looked up into seeking and tired brown irises. "You should get some rest." He prompted, leaning stiffly into the hospital chair and still not letting go of his friend's hand.

"You'll stay until I wake up?" Wilson asked with a shaking voice. He knew his admission had hurt his friend and was worried that House would be gone, possibly for good, when he woke up.

"Of course you idiot, now get some sleep." House grumbled giving Wilson an impressive eye-roll.

"I love you." Wilson whispered with a smile on his bruised and aching face. He shifted uncomfortably in the bed and settled down.

House patiently waited until he heard the tell-tale breathing of his friend asleep before he quietly whispered, "I love you too."

* * *

Cuddy walked into Wilson's room to find the man in question sound asleep and House staring at him with an expression of pain, longing, shame and anger on his face. He stirred out of his thoughts when he heard the swish of the doors and looked at her with a stone face, devoid of expression.

"How is he?" She asked, heading for a safe topic.

"Sleeping." House answered. The exhaustion and fear rolling off him conspired to make him look much older than he actually was. "He was hurting and tired so I got him to sleep for awhile."

"That's good." She answered truly thankful. "Not that he was hurting but that you got him to sleep." She amended at his curious head-cock realizing how her statement sounded.

House gave a sad nod, gathering the strength to inform her about his decision. "I need information on rehab centers." He offered wearily.

Cuddy's mouth fell open before she quickly gathered herself together. "Ok." She replied gently knowing it had cost him to admit that to her. "I'll have someone bring some pamphlets."

House visibly cringed at the word 'pamphlets" but he knew there was no better description for them and therefore kept his snide remark to himself. "Thanks." He said instead.

Cuddy walked up to him, her four inch heels clicking on the tiled floor, "I'm glad that you're doing this." She offered, putting a soft yet comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not doing it for me." House answered doing his best not to shrug the well-meant hand off his shoulder.

"I know. That's why I'm glad." She answered before she walked out leaving him to once again stare at his lover.

* * *

Wilson woke to a deep baritone voice irritably calling his name. "Mmm." He responded sleepily doing his best to open his eyes. When they finally obeyed, Wilson was able to see Foreman staring at him with a penlight in his hands.

"I've been instructed to give you a full neruo exam." Foreman replied seeing the confused look on the oncologist's face. "According to House you hit your head pretty hard."

Wilson squirmed and fidgeted during the exam but didn't complain knowing it'd just make the neurologist even more annoyed. He didn't think he needed an exam but he guessed that House wanted him to have one and therefore knew it wasn't up to him.

"Sleeping Beauty's awake!' A cheery voice exclaimed making Wilson cringe as the volume echoed through his skull and cranked up his headache a couple of notches.

House limped towards Wilson's bed, a tray of food in one hand and his cane in the other. "So, Dr. Foreman how is he?" He asked faking professionalism.

"He's fine, just like Chase and Cuddy had tried to tell you." Foreman replied annoyed and condescendingly. He glared at his boss after he turned away from his "patient". He had been only partially shocked when he had been informed that House was the reason Wilson was in the hospital in the first place. He was surprised that it hadn't happened earlier given House's temper and chronic drinking habits. Not that he thought Wilson had deserved this, NOT at all, but it didn't mean that he was shocked.

In truth, Foreman was more annoyed that House had made him come down and examine Wilson than he was for any damage that he had done to the oncologist. Foreman liked Wilson professionally; he was a good oncologist and doctor. He knew how to handle House when the rest of them wanted to strangle the older doctor and he was respectful of them all.

In Foreman's opinion he was also a doormat and had no backbone. It hadn't surprised him when he learned that Wilson had been abused by his ex-wife and it had come as even less of a shock when he'd heard about the multiple injuries he had received the other night.

He had no patience for those who whined and complained that they had been abused and therefore expected the world to pity them. Though, if he was truthful to himself he admired that Wilson hadn't turned out to be one of those people. He accepted the beatings and didn't complain about the results. On the outside, you wouldn't even know that the man had been repeatedly beaten over the last three and a half years.

While he didn't hate the man, he certainly didn't share Chase's anger at his boss and protectiveness over him either. Foreman never understood WHY people thought he should care what goes on in other people's personal lives unless they were a patient and even then there were boundaries.

His musings were interrupted when the swishing of doors informed him that someone had entered. He looked up to see Cameron coming into the room and he felt his curiosity creep up when he noticed that her facial expression was a mixture of sympathy for Wilson but understanding as well. The feeling increased when he noticed that she carried pamphlets in her hands. Foreman decided that now seemed to be a good time to become a fly on the wall and just listen.

"What are those?" Wilson asked curiously causing both House and Foreman to jump. They had forgotten that he was actually in the room with them.

"Pamphlets." House answered with a deep inhale. He set his tray down on an unoccupied part of Wilson's bed and began to filter through his food and nibble while he took said papers away from Cameron.

Wilson winced at House's tone but retorted, "I can see that, pamphlets for what?"

House eyed them all warily before he quietly answered in a softer tone, "Rehab." He had noticed Wilson's wince both times he had spoken and guessed that his friend had a headache.

Foreman felt his mouth drop and heard Cameron gasp, a hand covering her mouth as if to muffle the sound. Only Wilson didn't look shocked. Instead he looked gratefully and appreciative; clearly this was something that he and House had discussed.

Before anyone had time to make a comment, Chase entered throwing House a glare before he turned his attention on his patient. "How are you feeling?" He asked in his normally cheerful voice.

Wilson grimaced at the volume and absentmindedly brought his left hand to his head, encompassing his forehead and massaging his temples.

"He has a headache." House chirped softly, still eating and examining the pamphlets.

Chase stepped over and activated Wilson's pain medication, not bothering to ask if it was alright. "Have you eaten yet?" He asked.

"No." The oncologist answered fully aware that the entire room was paying attention to him. He squirmed, uncomfortable with all the attention.

"Alright," Chase answered, "I'll have Patricia bring you up some lunch and then what do you say to getting out of that bed?"

"Lunch?" Wilson exclaimed in shock. "How long have I been asleep?" The last thing he knew it was early evening.

"About eighteen hours." Chase answered after he called out to the nurse's desk and politely asked a pretty red-head to get some lunch for Wilson. "It's understandable. Your body needed the rest."

He walked over to Wilson's bed and raised the head, allowing Wilson to sit up and look more ready for visitors. The nurse arrived with the food and the fellows left their boss and his boyfriend to eat in peace.

"You didn't answer him." House pointed out once they left.

"What?" Wilson asked lost. He picked up the sandwich from the tray and nibbled on it. He wasn't really hungry but he did want to get out of the bed so that he would know what he was facing for the next six months at least.

"Chase, you never answered his question." The diagnostician answered as he tossed a pamphlet into the trash can with disgust.

Wilson smiled behind his sandwich. House pointing out his lack of manners was his friend's way of asking how he was doing. "Because I'm fine." He answered hoping to sound annoyed.

It soon became apparent that he had failed as House smiled knowingly. "No you're not. You're just not hurting thanks to Chase activating the meds."

Wilson smirked but refused to acknowledge the declaration. Instead he went with, "So, any look promising."

House had just finished rifling through the information and had his full attention on his food. He opened a bag of Frito Lays and crunched them loudly while he thought of which one he thought would work best. "Not really, they all look like authorized torture prisons." He answered.

The oncologist gave a glare and tried to rack his brain for the name of the rehab facility he had been looking into a few years ago. "What about Mayfield?" He asked, yelling in triumph in his head for remembering the name.

House shrugged refusing to admit that that was the one he had chosen. "If that's what you want." He said.

Wilson gave a long look at his friend before turning his own attention back to his food. He knew that was House's way of admitting that was what he had chosen. "When do you leave?" He asked trying to swallow the lump in his throat. God, he didn't want House to go but he knew it was for the best for everyone.

"In that much of a hurry to get rid of me eh?" House joked with a sneer.

"No, of course not!" Wilson replied appalled. The heart monitor beeped, alerting the two to Wilson's raised heart rate.

"Calm down before you bring Chase in here on me." House grumbled. "I don't know," he answered truthfully, "I need to talk to Cuddy."

Wilson nodded his acknowledgement, not fully trusting his voice. He muscles began itching to be able to move around and pace. Instead he settled for raising his left hand to the back of his neck and rubbing it.

As if on cue, Chase walked in with an orderly. "Ready to get out of bed?" He asked in a voice between quiet and normal. Obviously he was being cautious in case Wilson still had a headache.

"Yeah, I think so." Wilson answered in a voice far braver than he felt.

He allowed Chase to help him position his body to where he was dangling his feet off the bed, his left leg more straight than the right. He grimaced at the fresh wave of pain the motion brought but held his tongue. He really wasn't looking forward to this trip but the doctor in him knew that it would be better for him to be moving around earlier rather than later.

"I know, I'm sorry," Chase interjected, noticing Wilson's grimace with a sympathetic frown and effectively breaking into his thoughts, "but this will help you heal faster."

"No pain, no gain right?" Wilson replied with a gruff laugh as the two men helped him stand.

The person who invented that phrase had obviously never tried walking on a surgically fixed him with broken ribs and only one functioning arm, Wilson concluded as he began his slow, torturous walk over to the closest chair.

Thought it had been dulled by the recent injection of meds pain throbbed through his injured hip, searing its way through his lower back and down to his knee. Every uneasy and uneven step jarred his broken ribs allowing them to join in the chorus of pain. He grimaced and winced with every step unable to hide how much it hurt.

House watched his lover painfully make his way over to the chair, resisting the urge to rush over and help. Wilson had Chase and a well practiced orderly to help him and therefore didn't need House there. It hurt him to see the grimaces and winces of pain so much that he had to turn his head away when he noticed a slight tear from Wilson's tightly clenched eyes trickle its way down his cheek.

He forced himself to look back, burning the sight into his memory to remind himself if ever he wondered WHY he was in rehab or to discourage himself from grabbing at the nearest alcohol substance and downing it.

He wanted to cry when Wilson let out a groan as he painfully sat down in the relatively soft armchair in the room. This was what he was leaving his friend alone with for however long he'd be gone. This was what his drinking and lack of self control had done to his lover.

Once again, House felt sick and knew he couldn't stop his stomach from emptying the food he had just swallowed. He hurried over to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him and retching.

Wilson watched House flee with a sad heart.

"Guess he's still hung over." Chase offered noticing the look on the oncologist's face.

"Yeah, guess so." Wilson answered hollowly. He knew that it wasn't the alcohol that was making House sick. The man had had over eighteen hours to overcome his hang over and knew very well that it took less than twelve. He was concerned that House was actually sick but decided to wait until the others had left before he broached the conversation.

"How are you doing?" Chase asked, once again breaking through Wilson's thoughts.

"Is that a trick question?" Wilson answered dryly.

Chase offered a smile, "No, but I guess you're right, it was a stupid question." He answered laughing at himself. "Do you need anything?"

"No, I'll be okay for right now. Thanks Chase."

"Well, I'm going to leave you here for a few minutes but I'll be back soon to help you get back in bed." The intensivist replied.

Wilson nodded grateful that Chase was giving him time to rest before making him get back in bed. He honestly didn't know if his leg would hold him right now and he wasn't too keen on testing it so soon. He laid his head back against the armchair, listening to the sounds of Chase and the orderly leaving along with House still retching. He frowned in worry over his friend but allowed himself to push the feeling aside for right now and just rest. He'd need his strength for the return trip.

* * *

**There you all are! I'm sorry it took me so long to update, RL has kept me busy for the past few days. I hope you all enjoyed it! **

**Don't forget to click that little review link below and let me know your thoughts!  
**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11:**

Cameron, Chase and Foreman sat around the glass table in the conference room after having left Wilson's room. They each sat silently lost in their own thoughts until Cameron broke the silence. "Why are you so mad at House?" She asked, directing her question Chase.

Chase's mouth dropped, "Seriously? You're wondering why I'm mad?" He replied shocked to hear that question coming from her. "Did you even take a good look at Wilson?" He countered.

"Of course I have but he doesn't seem to be as bad as you made him out to be and he's not acting like a normal abuse victim would towards his abuser." She argued.

"So, I guess the inscription in his back was done by a common enemy? Oh wait, they don't have a common enemy let alone with the initials G.H." He snarked as he get up and crossed the room to walk off a bit of agitation.

"We don't even know what happened." She continued to argue stubbornly. Inwardly she argued with herself about the strength of her argument; she didn't want to believe that House could be capable of that kind of violence and therefore she'd managed to somehow talk herself into believing that Chase is just overreacting and finding things in scratches that aren't there.

"So the fact that Wilson's ribs seem to have gathered more breaks, cracks and fractures since he's been with House is just a coincidence?" Chase replied mockingly. "Honestly I'm surprised you aren't more outraged than you are but I guess I shouldn't be considering its House."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cameron asked icily.

"Just that anything concerning House is right unless YOU feel it's morally wrong. What did you beat your husband whenever you got annoyed with him?" Chase suggested.

"No, of course not!" She answered appalled.

"Then HOW are you okay with this?" He asked exasperated.

"I just know what its like to have the person you love turn into someone else because of pain." She answered.

"That would make sense if you were defending Wilson but you're defending House so care to explain." The intensivist summarized coming close to condescending.

"No I don't." She answered succinctly. "I understand both sides here and I don't think House is in the wrong."

"So you think that Wilson deserved it?" Foreman interjected enjoying the conflict between his two colleagues. "Or do you think that House should be pitied and have special allowances made because he's in pain and has become an alcoholic to cover it up?" He added while his voice hardened slightly more with each word. He drew his face into a mock triumphant expression, "Oh wait! People already make special allowances for his crazy behavior and as a rule people pity cripples."

Cameron's mouth snapped shut while an angry glare filled her face. It became clear to the other two that she had no intention of replying so Chase decided he would, "I'll be sure to let Wilson know that you agree with what House did and that you think he deserved it."

"I never said that!" She practically shrieked.

"No, but you didn't argue either." House's gravelly voice interrupted before anyone else could say it.

Cameron spun around on her heel, shock filling her entire face and crystallizing her eyes. They had been so busy goading and snapping at each other that they hadn't noticed their boss in the room. He stood leaning stiffly against the door way, icy eyes staring at each and every one of them.

"House-" Cameron began before House cut her off.

"Chase, Wilson says he's ready to get back in bed and he'll need another round of pain meds." He said ignoring Cameron's stuttering explanation completely and focusing on the only reason he was there in the first place.

Chase replied with a nod began to walk out the door. House stepped aside allowing him to leave and then threw his attention at Cameron. "Oh and the nurses are busy so I told him I'd send you down to help check, clean and change the dressings on his back, shoulder and arm." Cameron hid her annoyance poorly but crossed her arms and left anyways.

House then turned his attention towards Foreman, "You can go home." He dismissed with a short nod in the neurologist's direction.

"Why do I get to go home?" Foreman asked curiously though he was happy to be able to leave early.

"Because you're the only one who doesn't actually care." House answered, limping out of the room and heading for the elevators. What he didn't add was that since Foreman didn't care about Wilson, he didn't want the man around.

Yes, Cameron didn't care about Wilson either, at least not as much as she did about House, but he hoped that by having her help Wilson she'd realize the actual extent of the damage done to the oncologist. House thought she was being naïve by still defending him though she had to know that he was in the wrong. Everyone else knew it, hell even HE knew it and Cameron, while being a lovesick moron, was no idiot.

He walked in to Wilson's room in time to see Chase and the orderly from earlier get him back onto the bed. He inwardly frowned at the sight of his friend but kept walking in.

Wilson's face was covered in a light sheen of sweat from the exercise and his handsome features seemed to be permanently frozen in a painful grimace. His teeth were clenched together tightly while the muscle in his jaw working furiously and his left hand was trying to strangle the life out of his gown.

The thing that House noticed the most was how much pain shown in his lover's eyes and the way they were squinting in the harsh light of the room and the noise of the people in it. He was about to yell at Chase to get the pain medication when the Australian pulled out a syringe he had kept in his pocket and inserted its contents into Wilson's IV.

Within seconds Wilson visibly relaxed and the pain in his eyes dulled considerably, leaving House able to breathe normally again.

"Better?" Chase asked with a soft smile.

Wilson flinched slightly but gave a small nod. "Yeah, thanks."

"Good. I'm going to get someone in here and have them check and change your dressings, okay?" Chase asked quietly. He hadn't missed the way his patient had flinched at the sound of his voice and guessed that he had a headache.

"That's okay Chase," House interrupted just as quietly, "Cameron told me she'd be glad to help out."

Cameron glared at him but turned a happy smile on Chase and Wilson. "Is that okay?" She asked the man on the bed.

"Yeah." Wilson responded tiredly.

House grabbed her arm, just tightly enough to stall her from moving, "I know that you don't care about him but you had better be gentle." He warned quietly.

Cameron stared at him shocked into silence. House warning her to be careful with someone was very unheard of, even if was Wilson he was talking about. She felt a spike of jealousy rise within her and couldn't stop her next retort. "Don't worry, I won't hurt him. You've already done enough of that I think."

House practically growled at her but let her go, resisting the urge to smack her. He turned around to find Wilson and Chase watching them in shock; apparently they hadn't been as quiet as they hoped. It was House's turn to be in shock when he noticed the surprised expression on Wilson's face change to one of anger as Cameron came up to him, allowing Chase to move out of the way before she gathered the necessary tools for her task and placed them on a sterile tray.

Chase walked up to House with a smirk on his face and leaned against the wall in the exact spot Cameron had previously been occupying. Silently they watched as Wilson stiffened considerably when she laid a gentle hand on his arm.

She walked over to his right side and began to ease the sling off his arm. Thanks to the pain medication that had been recently administered, it didn't hurt Wilson near as much as it could and he was able to keep the discomfort hidden.

He wasn't happy with Cameron for her comment to House but he didn't know if he should say anything about it or not so he chose to keep quiet but his demeanor icy. He could sense that something was going on between House and his two fellows but Wilson couldn't figure it out so he threw House a quizzical look.

House gave a minute shake of his head, indicating to his friend that he'd fill him in later and kept a trained eye on Cameron's ministrations instead.

Cameron began to unwrap the gauze that covered Wilson's forearm then began to inspect the two inch long gash that covered it. Her brows furrowed in sympathy while she inspected the cut but kept her opinions to herself as she re-applied a new bandage.

She then helped take the gown off on his right side so she could unwrap and inspect his injured shoulder. She felt her face slacken in shock at the deep bruising that covered Wilson's side and snaked to his back. It looked like someone had take black, dark blue and purple paint and purposely colored his side with it, leaving little swirls along his back. No wonder moving had hurt him so much.

After unwrapping the compression bandage she loosened the gauze bandage and inspected the obviously very deep gash that had been stitched, gently palpitating around it to check and make sure things were healing the way they should.

Wilson hissed at her touch but made no move otherwise and House had to keep himself locked to the spot against the wall. He did however throw Cameron a dark look which she promptly ignored.

She'd read the file and knew that the shoulder had muscle and ligament damage but thankfully no bone damage. She assumed she'd pressed on a tender spot and said, "Sorry."

Wilson ignored her apology. Going by her tone, she wasn't all that sorry for hurting him and he wasn't about to forgive something she didn't mean. He stole a glance at House and was surprised to find his friend glaring heavily at her. He briefly wondered what was going on before his thoughts were occupied by burning pain in his shoulder.

Cameron finished her inspection then proceeded to re-wrap his shoulder in the compression bandage. Wilson gave a pained gasp then groan under her ministrations; apparently she hadn't been as gentle as she hoped. Her eyes softened at the realization and she tried to be especially gentle as she eased the gown off his left side so she could get a better look at the scratches on his back.

Wilson shivered as the cold air reached his previously covered body, causing him to groan when they ran through his injured side.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" Cameron asked more than a little nervous about hurting him again.

"No," he answered, a little relieved to hear genuine concern in her voice, "just cold."

"Okay, well I'm just going to get a quick look at your back to make sure nothing's infected there and then I'm done." She assured, gently peeling away the taped gauze bandage.

She couldn't stop the gasp that left her mouth as the words of the inscription jumped out at her. The scratches were red as was the skin around them but there was no mistaking what they said. She looked up from Wilson's back in astonishment and into House's face. Silently she pleaded for him to tell her that he hadn't done this but he offered her no support.

Instead he kept his gaze steady and unforgiving. He'd heard her disbelief about what he'd done and semi-suggest that it wasn't House's fault and even manage to imply that it was Wilson's; he'd wanted her to see this, to wake her up to reality.

She changed her look from astonished and pleading to 'Congratulations, I know just how much of an ass you are!' instead.

She grabbed the disinfectant from the tray and began to clean out the scratches. Wilson cringed at the feeling of the medicine burning but didn't make a sound. "Sorry," she apologized though she knew it wasn't her fault, "it looks like the scratches are infected."

"It's okay." Wilson replied still cringing. His back burned and all he wanted to do was shy away from the pain but he knew it needed to be done and moving would only elicit more pain so he stayed where he was, his left hand gripping the edge of the bed.

She soothed ointment over the gouges trying to keep her touch gentle. Shivers ran through her body as her hands ran over the words; the raised bumps and deep grooves letting her know that House had made them deep enough to scar.

"Alright, I'm done." She announced walking around Wilson to face him. "Do you want help scooting back?"

"I'll do that." Chase chirped, not fully trusting Cameron to be able to help without hurting his patient. He walked over to the oncologist and awkwardly helped him move his hurting body from the edge of the bed to the middle of it.

By the time they finished, Wilson was panting and grimacing in pain once again. He silently waited for the searing to settle down to a throbbing before he threw Cameron and Chase a grateful look, "Thanks."

"Yeah, thanks. Now get out." House pitched in, limping over to the chair closest to the bed.

Cameron realized too late Chase's instinct to put his body between House and Wilson, so she fought the same urge and acknowledged her boss' command by walking out. Chase threw House a smirk but soon followed, leaving the two alone.

They hadn't been alone more than ten minutes before Cuddy walked in, her white lab coat swishing behind her and her heels click-clacking away on the floor. "Hey," she greeted weakly, "how are you feeling?"

"Alright," Wilson answered wearily.

Cuddy nodded, understanding that Wilson's 'Alright' meant that he was hurting but didn't want to talk about it. "Good," she said slightly more cheerful, "can I borrow House for a moment?"

"Sure, he needs to get away from here for more than a few minutes anyways." Wilson replied with a tired wave of his hand.

House glowered at his friend for answering for him but grabbed the waving hand and gave it a short kiss before he stiffly stood up and followed Cuddy out of the room.

"Did you decide on a place?" Cuddy asked outright knowing that the diagnostician preferred to be blunt.

House gave a small nod, "Mayfield."

"Okay," she replied more than a little shocked that he was actually going to go through with this, "when do you plan on going?"

"Trying to get rid of me already huh? Want Wilson all to yourself to smother with caring?" He sneered to try to lighten the tone of conversation.

She gave him a dramatic eye-roll, "No, I wanted to make sure I could give you a ride."

"What makes you think I need one?" He countered.

"Because I know you. You won't want one of your team doing it and you certainly won't want to leave your car there the entire time or let it get towed." She argued reasonably.

House conceded to her point with a nod before he turned his gaze toward his sleeping friend. It broke his heart to leave him but he knew it was necessary so he tried to remain strong. "Tomorrow, probably after lunch." _So I can say good bye_ he finished in his head.

She followed his gaze and smiled sadly at him. "Okay, have someone come and get me when you're ready." She told him, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

He nodded, using the motion of getting her hand off his arm to swipe a lone tear off his cheek. He walked back into the room to stare at the sleeping form of his lover, wanting to memorize every line, crack and expression. Tomorrow would not be easy for either of them.

* * *

**AN: I apologize for any mistakes and/or bad characterization. My beta and partner in crime is going to be out of touch for the rest of the week and has told me to go ahead and finish the story without waiting for her input. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12:**

The night passed silently with Wilson sleeping deeply while House slipped between slumber and watching the oncologist. He knew he should be sleeping but he really just didn't feel like it so he settled for watching his friend sleep, making sure to keep an eye out for signs of distress from him.

When he was awake, he scanned his lover's face repeatedly in an attempt to memorize every bruise, every scratch, and every stitch. He wanted to have a visual memory of what he'd done so that if he ever questioned his decision, he could remember the image of the he loved broken and hurting to give him renewed determination.

It was hard, because every time his eyes swept across the sleeping man's features, the more he wanted to drown his sorrows in a bottle. But he made a promise to Wilson and he was going to keep this one.

Wilson woke up around seven am, not quite bright eyed and bushy-tailed but not nearly as groggy as he normally would be. He looked to his left to find House sleeping awkwardly in the chair next to the bed, his feet on top of Wilson's bed. Deciding that it would be best to wake his friend up and get him to sleep at home (or at least on a different surface), Wilson grabbed the bed controls and sat the head of his bed up.

The movement caused his side, hip and shoulder to flare with pain but he managed to keep the groan in and settled for scrunching up his face. Gingerly, he reached over and shook the diagnostician awake. "Hey." He greeted as his friend gave him an annoyed glare.

House grumbled his response while he shifted his aching body off Wilson's bed and into a more upright position. He grimaced when pain seared through his thigh then took out his Vicodin. Hesitating only for a second, he popped two in his mouth. He studied the man in the bed. "How long has it been since the meds wore off?" He asked after he'd finished his inspection.

"Not long. I'm fine." Wilson responded softly. He could tell something was bothering his friend and he wanted to try to be as reassuring yet normal as possible. "So, what was going on with Cameron and Chase yesterday?"

"Nothing," House answered with a sigh, "just a lover's spat."

Wilson frowned, "I didn't know they were lovers."

"They're not." House replied simply.

"Okay," Wilson said in a questioning tone.

"Well, I never said that the spat was between them." House quipped. At Wilson's frustrated and annoyed look, House continued, "Is this really what you want to talk about?"

Wilson cocked his head to the right. Something in House's tone as he asked that last question caught his attention. Quietly he sat, filtering through information and subtleties while he tried to figure out what was going on. His eyes widened and his heart picked up its pace when he finally realized what it was, "You're leaving today."

House averted his eyes but nodded the affirmative. He really didn't want to see the shock, hurt and fear in his lover's face at that realization. "Yeah, around lunchtime." He confirmed.

Wilson sat in his bed, stunned into silence. The rational part of him realized that House would be leaving almost immediately but the emotional side wanted to beg him to stay. He ignored the emotional side, not willing to give up a chance to be truly happy with his partner, and put on a brave smile that didn't reach his eyes. Since he didn't actually know what to say he reached out his hand and encompassed House's right with his then gave it a gentle squeeze, causing its owner to look up at him, "I will be here when you need me."

House rolled his eyes, though they both knew that he had tears welling up in them, "Could you BE anymore cheesy?" He mocked gratefully.

"Yeah, but I don't want to hug you." Wilson joked with a small chuckle.

"Thank God," House breathed.

Wilson gave House's hand another gentle squeeze but whether it was from wanting to give comfort or the pain that spiked through his side from the chuckle he couldn't hold down, didn't know. "You should go home; take a shower, get some real food and stretch your leg."

"I'm fine." House argued weakly.

"Yeah, I know but you still need to go home, take a shower, get some real food and stretch your leg." Wilson repeated. "I have this sneaky suspicion that you haven't been home since you made the decision to leave, so you also need to pack and get your apartment ready."

"Aren't you going to be staying in it when you leave?"

"Not right away. I'll probably end up going to my own rehab center for a few weeks for my hip before I'm released to go home." Wilson answered knowing that was more than likely what was going to happen.

Realization dawned on House, his blue eyes becoming brighter with it. Of course Wilson would be going to a facility for his hip. The man just had surgery on it a few days ago so he will need to learn the correct way to walk and how to do things on his own.

At that moment a nurse walked in carrying Wilson's breakfast. She placed the tray down on the bedside rolling table and began to check his vitals.

"You don't need to be here for this," Wilson prompted, "go home. I'll still be here when you come back."

House stiffly stood up, testing his leg before he made a move, and walked over to his friend. He leaned down and gently gave Wilson a kiss. "You better be." He joked before he strode out.

* * *

When House returned, Wilson was slowly making his way from the bed to the cushioned armchair in the room. House stood outside the room, observing his friend for a little while.

Wilson was walking a little easier today than yesterday though not by much. It was clear that each step was painful but he seemed to be more fluid with his movements. He sat down in the armchair with a tired grimace, his eyes showing exhaustion with a little bit of happiness.

House took that opportunity to walk in, duffel bag in hand. "Congratulations Grandpa, you made it!" He joked cheerily.

The nurse and orderly in the room took offense to House's comment but Wilson merely laughed, his left arm snaking around his side and bracing it. "Pot, meet Kettle," he said, gesturing to House when he mentioned the pot and himself with the kettle.

House gave an appreciative chuckle before pulling up the hard chair nearest Wilson's. They sat in comfortable silence for awhile, each staring at the other in study.

The meditative silence was broken by Wilson's room doors opening, admitting Chase and an orderly. "Are you ready to get up and move around some more?" The former asked happily.

Wilson offered a smile, "Sure, got to do it sometime right?"

Chase and the orderly both smiled before walking over to Wilson and offering their support in getting the patient up. He grimaced as he stood but once he was standing, the grimace faded followed by an intense look of determination.

House watched the three scuttle around the room slowly for a few minutes before Wilson conceded he needed to rest. He frowned at the familiar look of pain and exhaustion in the brown eyes but said nothing.

Chase helped Wilson get back into bed before he offered a nod at his boss and left as well. The oncologist settled back against the bed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

The diagnostician could see that the short trip around the room has exhausted his friend and therefore stays quiet while he waits for Wilson to fall asleep.

* * *

The next thing Wilson is aware of someone is gently shaking him awake. He groggily looks around to see House standing next to his bed with Cuddy behind him.

"Wilson." House beckons in a tone that is almost sat and pleading.

Wilson mentally shakes his head to clear the fog of sleep and stiffly shifts so that he's sitting up more. Somewhere in the back of his mind pain registers in his body but he's too busy noticing the look of 'Goodbye' on House's face to care.

"It's time." House simply says.

A million things run through Wilson's mind and it takes all his willpower not to say any of them. Instead, he settles for a small nod and an encouraging smile. It's stupid really, to be so desperate to save someone and not be able to let them go at the same time. He knew it would only be for a year at most but to Wilson that seemed almost an eternity. He can't remember the last time he'd been away from House that long since they'd met fifteen plus years ago.

House sat down on Wilson's bed, gently pulling him in for a hug before he pulled back away and stood up. Placing a soft, lingering kiss on Wilson's forehead he gave an awkward smile. "See you." He said.

"House," Wilson said, stopping House while on his way out the door.

"I know." House answered. And he did. He knew everything Wilson wanted to say and didn't have enough time for. He knew that Wilson would be there waiting for him when he got out and he knew that Wilson was there if he needed him. He knew that Wilson loved him and he knew that Wilson forgave him. "Me too."

At seeing the relief, love and understanding flitter across Wilson's face, House knew that the oncologist knew exactly what he meant as well. He walked out of the room as quickly as he could, effectively walking out of his lover's life for the next few months.

Rehab would suck like no other but if it meant that he would be able to keep Wilson in his life and only give him loving touches then he would do anything. Besides, it was only a few months.

* * *

**There you go folks! The final chapter of this fic. Don't worry there will be a sequel called Recovering Faith starting soon. All things and I are starting to work on it so you shouldn't have to wait too long. **

**Thanks to all of you whom have stuck with this story though it may have been hard to read. I appreciate it and your reviews!  
**


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